little Easter Eggs, Ellison hides bouts of hysterical laughter in undoubtedly with Invisible Man the idea of in mind. This is, in part, to give the sense of dislocation that the “laughter barrels” narrator feels at the core of his identity. For African Americans such as invisible man, this dislocation which causes a crisis in identity is two-fold. First there was the forced movement out of Africa into the new world, then the movement which actually occurs in the novel out of the South and into large cities further north. tactic for reconciling this displaced sense of Ellison’s identity (or at least the tactic he assigns for his narrator) necessarily involves humor. In Jean-Christophe our invisible man is read as a Cloutier’s relatively recent analysis, comic book hero, likened to the most eminent of the sort—Batman and Superman. Cloutier claims that predilection for indigenous American forms of expression like jazz, as well “Ellison’s as his embrace of popular forms, renders him receptive to the as Scott McCloud ‘invisible art,’ calls (Cloutier 294). Harlem is then read as a and comics” “lurid colorful (296)” playground where violence and vigilantism run rampant. It is significant that secret identity is “the hero’s preserved, for the reader knows him only as in the Invisible Man (303).” Specific references novel to the Lone Ranger and Dick Tracy help to solidify it as being in conversation with comic books (305-6). Finally, in vindicating the comic form as art and presenting the narrator as a hero, Cloutier claims that Ellison a glimpse of a world where criminal passions can be “offers harnessed to socially useful ends” (316). As convincing as this reading is, there is more to than just this vigilantism. Invisible Man orator, a (Invisible 14) but, most significantly, an artist. As the Man He’s “an rabble rouser” narrator himself realizes, am nobody but He refuses to adhere to any reductionist “I myself” (15). identity, and therefore allows himself to be all things all at a musicality in his once. There’s expression which seems to suggest that violence and heroism (Cloutier that Cloutier “the 296)”
little Easter Eggs, Ellison hides bouts of hysterical laughter in Invisible Man undoubtedly with the idea of “laughter barrels” in mind. This is, in part, to give the sense of dislocation that the narrator feels at the core of his identity. For African Americans such as invisible man, this dislocation which causes a crisis in identity is two-fold. First there was the forced movement out of Africa into the new world, then the movement which actually occurs in the novel out of the South and into large cities further north. Ellison’s tactic for reconciling this displaced sense of identity (or at least the tactic he assigns for his narrator) necessarily involves humor. In Jean-Christophe Cloutier’s relatively recent analysis, our invisible man is read as a comic book hero, likened to the most eminent of the sort—Batman and Superman. Cloutier claims that “Ellison’s predilection for indigenous American forms of expression like jazz, as well as his embrace of popular forms, renders him receptive to the ‘invisible art,’ as Scott McCloud calls comics” (Cloutier 294). Harlem is then read as a “lurid and colorful (296)” playground where violence and vigilantism run rampant. It is significant that “the hero’s secret identity is preserved, for the reader knows him only as Invisible Man (303).” Specific references in the novel to the Lone Ranger and Dick Tracy help to solidify it as being in conversation with comic books (305-6). Finally, in vindicating the comic form as art and presenting the narrator as a hero, Cloutier claims that Ellison “offers a glimpse of a world where criminal passions can be harnessed to socially useful ends” (316). As convincing as this reading is, there is more to Invisible Man than just this vigilantism. He’s “an orator, a rabble rouser” (Invisible Man 14) but, most significantly, an artist. As the narrator himself realizes, “I am nobody but myself” (15). He refuses to adhere to any reductionist identity, and therefore allows himself to be all things all at once. There’s a musicality in his expression which seems to suggest that “the violence and heroism (Cloutier 296)” that Cloutier