Emi's English Blog

     Ellison, man. You’ve got to let it go. We get it, black and white symbolize things and a lot of things can be colored black and white and be symbolic but, my gosh, not eVERYTHING has to be. Okay. Up until page 492, whenever I came across another black or white object it was still pretty funny, and I wagged my finger knowingly and thought that Ellison sure is something, there’s that symbolism again rubbed in my face in such a clever way har har har. But then I hit page 492 and somehow the subject turns to the narrator’s shoes AGAIN, and I was just like….why you forcin’ it Elli. I mean, we have this interesting Rinehart character come into action and then, of all things, we have to talk about his shoes? Who’s known for his shoes anyways (knobtoed, which by the way are basically just like any other classy black shoe ever), when he has such iconic other articles of fashion like his sunglasses and hat? Who would even be looking at his shoes? That creepy. Ellison please stop making ev

  The narrator of Invisible Man is a remarkable person. He knows exactly who he is, at least, he eventually does (once he is free from chasing the Bledsoe assistant life and the other stuff that came before his underground life with light bulbs). He breaks through all the pretending/societal conditioning, which is thrown at every one of us and shapes our thoughts and behaviors and expectations. He reaches enlightenment—literal enlightenment, with physical lights. He is being true to his nature, doing the rebellious thing his grandpa told him to. Unlike most of us, he is free. But is he? None of us are really “ourselves”—we’re just molds of our experience.   In his earlier life, the narrator thought the things society wanted him to think, the things he thought were the right things to think in order to be “successful,” and with effort, he suppressed that nagging memory of his grandpa’s words. We know that after several things happen, he rebels against the straight path and