Where The Sidewalk Ends (and the Riot Starts)

The narrator of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man is, among his many trials, blocked on the sidewalk by a collection of items belonging to an elderly couple being evicted. His interpretation of the various items begins as “a lot of junk waiting to be hauled away” (Ellison 206). Though he learns that the items have significance to their owners, his read on the situation continues to involve the low quality of their belongings. The early description of the “old woman… wearing a man’s shows and a man’s heavy blue sweater” establishes a theme of this section’s narration, the narrator’s disdain for the items despite his wish that the elderly Provos be allowed to keep them (206). This is the central conflict in the narrator’s position, best evidenced by statements he makes that emphasize the shabby qualities of the Provos’ belongings while upholding their right to keep them. IM notes “a fragile paper, coming apart with age,” which turn out to be Brother Provo’s freedom papers (210). These are the final straw of indignation; when he realizes that the very symbol of an elderly man in his community’s freedom is being left on the ground like trash, he is disgusted but not yet stirred to speak. However, only when other men in the crowd begin to menace the marshal conducting the eviction does the narrator step in to try and control things with his rhetoric. His outrage is “only a bitter spurt of gall” until what he sees as the reputation of the Black community is challenged, at which point he takes on the role of mediator (211). In his own mind, the inspiration of seeing the Provos’ things strewn across the sidewalk allows him to step in and offer unseen perspective to those who may benefit from it.

However, the IM’s intentions may belie the truth of how he feels about himself and his ideology, as well as the ruling ideology. Even his mental categorization of the items that the Provos are having taken away is internally racialized; he separates items such as “‘knocking bones’” and “a small Ethiopian flag” from another group with such things as a child’s greeting card and newspaper clippings (209-210). There is a shame in the narrator’s recognition of these items, just as earlier in the chapter he had to slowly overcome his shame to enjoy the street vendor’s yams. When the narrator rhetorically asks the crowd “who’s being dispossessed?” he is trying to channel this assigned shame into anger, one on behalf of his community (216). His internalized anger at not being fully in touch with his community marries with the anger at his community that he has learned from his necessary dealings with a racist world. The significance of the freedom papers now becomes clear: they stand as a symbol of the lack of progression of the Black community as a whole, something which only the narrator is able to “pick up” on. His appeal to the crowd ends in violence against his best efforts not because he is a poor speaker, but because he has externalized an unknown inner rage where he thought there was only indignation.

call and response/antiphonal development

We explored today Ellison’s interest in antiphonal forms to link an individual musician/orator/writer with an audience. I wanted to share links to two blog posts that help us grasp this connection more concretely. First, the post I shared on Zoom:

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And second, a jazz-centric post from Lincoln Center’s blog. This one is more relevant in some ways, since the IMs performances in chapters 12 and 16 are jazz-like in their improvisiatory riffing, their lack of a “blueprint” as Peetie Wheatstraw has it:

https://www.jazz.org/blog/playlist-call-and-response/

 

Ellison and music

As I’ve mentioned a few times, music is incredibly important to Ellison. He attended Tuskegee on a music scholarship, he was an obsessive collector of records, and he grew up in Oklahoma in the “swing era” amid musicians like guitarist Charlie Christian and band leader Count Basie. He was a bit old, in a sense, for the “bebop” that emerged in the 40s and rose to dominance in the 50s via players like Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie, and Miles Davis, but he was a cogent critic of this emergent style and its fingerprints, so to speak, are on Invisible Man in various ways. Here’s a quick tour through some helpful musical contexts for the novel:

[for those interested in a deeper dive, there’s lots of scholarship on this topic. You might start with some of the interviews with prominent scholars on this site]

Peetie Wheatstraw was a real blues musician who called himself “the devil’s son-in-law.” Peter Wheatstraw in the novel is a bit more urbane and ironic, arguably, than the Peetie of this track, but you can at least catch the flavor of the Southern “Delta blues” tradition that Ellison references via the name here:

Peetie Wheatstraw – Devil’s Son-In-Law

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Charlie Christian was Ellison’s contemporary and also from Oklahoma City. He is a bridge figure between the swing era and bebop whose playing helped bring the electric guitar from its place as a “rhythm instrument,” playing chords as a harmonic foundation for the solo instruments, to a place as a solo instrument in its own right. Here’s his “Solo Flight”:

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Charlie Parker and Dizzie Gillespie are often pointed to as Godfathers of bebop, whose velocity and melodic invention radically reshaped jazz music, especially (to quote Invisible Man) by exploring the “uncertain extremes of the scale” (259). Here both do just that, in a wild ride that shows off the sheer velocity of the music of this moment:

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Simple Bibliography

“Biography – The Gordon Parks Foundation.” Gordon Parks Foundation, www.gordonparksfoundation.org/artist/biography.

Blair, Sara. Harlem Crossroads: Black Writers and the Photograph in the Twentieth Century. Princeton University Press, 2007.

Lamm, Kimberly. “Visuality and Black Masculinity in Ralph Ellison’s ‘Invisible Man’ and Romare Bearden’s Photomontages.” Callaloo, vol. 26, no. 3, 2003, pp. 813–835. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/3300728.

Millichap, Joseph. “Fiction, Photography, and the Cultural Construction of Racial Identity in Ralph Ellison’s ‘Invisible Man.’” South Atlantic Review, vol. 76, no. 4, 2011, pp. 129–142. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/43738922.

Raz-Russo, Michal. Invisible Man: Gordon Parks and Ralph Ellison in Harlem. Steidl, 2016.

Rowell, Charles H., and Kerry James Marshall. “An Interview with Kerry James Marshall.” Callaloo, vol. 21, no. 1, 1998, pp. 263–272. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/3300033.

Sargent, Antwaun. “’Invisible Man’ Inspires Conceptual Art About Blackness.” Vice, VICE, 21 June 2017, www.vice.com/en_us/article/ev4wwm/invisible-man-inspires-conceptual-art-blackness.

“Silence Is Golden.” The Studio Museum in Harlem, 4 Jan. 2019, studiomuseum.org/collection-item/silence-golden.

Walling, William. “‘Art’ and ‘Protest’: Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man Twenty Years After.” Phylon (1960-), vol. 34, no. 2, 1973, pp. 120–134. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/273820.

 

The main database I used was JSTOR and Google Scholar. I searched the terms “Ralph Ellison” “Invisible Man” “art” “photography” I also played with the wording and got different sources. There wasn’t many articles that helped my specific topic of Ellison’s art in Invisible Man but what really set off my search was researching the information in Visuality and Black Masculinity by Lamm which gave me other leads.