Why “Invisible Man" is a protest novel

Ralph Ellison maintained until the day he died that Invisible Man was not a protest novel. Exasperated that “black fiction” had been branded purely as a subgenre of protest literature and even more bothered by how his black peers brazenly reinforced this pattern, Ellison was determined to pen a composition that would not rely on the preconceived notions of racial relation critique. There are many reasons why, although he emphatically succeeds in the artistic department, I believe Ellison ultimately fails to eschew protest literature--his novel can attest to this.

Here is my interpretation of Ellison’s stream of consciousness: racism had created certain boundaries around the perception of African Americans, who, to counter the effect, began furiously producing literature designed to refute these stereotypes, in the process allowing [white] critics to identify ALL black fiction in the same category. The basis for Invisible Man was to break this cycle and avoid the so-called black aesthetic cliche; instead of advocating racial solidarity, Ellison chose to promote individualism and humanity. This in itself is a social critique. Like the hero in his novel, Ellison realized that as long as he was perceived solely as a member of a fixed group rather than as an individual, he would always be invisible. In other words, it was more valuable for him to become a successful author than a successful black author. 

During his lifetime, Ellison was often accused of being an elitist for his contempt of the black nationalist movement and his camaraderie with white critics. His aversion to chastising racial barriers did not resonate with the growing breed of black nationalists, who saw his approach as not only obsolete but also too passive. Nevertheless, I think his model of activism is important to note. As Ellison once said of Invisible Man, "This is not a self-help or self-hate book; it is a plea for common survival”, that is to say, his novel is not trying to cure invisibility nor excoriate it. He did not want to be exploited like the narrator, who became a symbol of the Brotherhood, or like the Founder, who had been helplessly immortalized as a champion of black humility. Ellison chose an affinity to preaching universal truths, which is especially echoed in the epilogue by the narrator, who implies that his identity and experiences are shared among but not limited to members of his race--anyone can be a Rinehart. Racism only impedes this ubiquitous prerogative.

By trying to avoid becoming one, Ellison was inadvertently establishing himself as a protest writer--a protest against protest fiction, if you will. In spite of this shortcoming, he delivers an extremely pertinent and comprehensive social critique. By these principles, white society is not the all-inclusive enemy--conformity is. “Who knows but that on the lower frequencies; I speak for you?”