Yams

In his track King Kunta, Kendrick Lamar had a few lines that I was reminded of while reading Invisible Man. At the end of the hook and the beginning of the first verse, Kendrick says,

“Bitch where you when I was walkin?

Now I run the game got the whole world talkin

King Kunta, everybody wanna cut the legs off him

When you got the yams… (What's the yams?)

The yam is the power that be

You can smell it while I'm walkin down the street”

In a passage that Lamar is clearly alluding to in Chapter 13 of Invisible Man, the Narrator finds himself drawn to the scent of yams being served by what appears to be a street vendor. He takes a bite of the yam and finds himself enchanted with the sensory experience. Between the “sugary pulp”, the “bubbling [...] syrup”, and savory “melted butter” described by Ellison, the reader becomes privy to the same delicious experience (sidenote: I am very hungry). He’s so enchanted with the taste of the first yam that he immediately buys another. Upon eating the yam, the Narrator finds himself free of previous inhibitions. He finds himself uncaring of what bystanders might think and laughing at his former mentor Bledsoe, calling him a “chitterling eater”. Related to this, he finds himself transported back to the south, his mind filling with reminders of his home, a place and people we have previously seen him be ashamed of. The Narrator is the most liberated that we have seen him up to this point in the novel and all because he ate a yam.

With all the various imagery, culinary or otherwise, associated with the South and/or freedom that exists, it’s rather curious that Ellison would choose yams as the item that frees the Narrator. Why did he not, for example, pick chitterlings? Instead, he mocks Bledsoe for potentially eating them. There is of course the potential for puns with “yam”, resulting in the line “I yam what I am.”, whereas “I chitling what I am” doesn’t sound nearly as good. But the poetic nature of “yam” is likely not enough to justify the word choice. So what is it about yams that transported the Narrator to another reality?

The most obvious reason, as previously stated, is that it is categorized as “soul food”. For those who don’t know, “soul food” is a term used to refer to food prepared in Southern African-American cuisine, often easily traced back to slavery. The Narrator feels that by eating yams, he is sent back to his Southern home. But yams seems to have more significance in Southern cuisine than simply being a staple. Yam is often eaten candied; baked with sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, or butter; or baked into pies. One could assume that yams were luxuries, something to look forward to, but a rarity. Considering the fact that such resources as sugar, cinnamon, or butter weren’t readily available to slaves or poor post-Reconstruction blacks, this was something they probably saved for special occasions. Such a food likely gives the Narrator a sense of indulgence beyond simply returning to his roots.

But the significance of yams stretches further back than even slavery. In African cuisine as well, yams are often incorporated. It is often valued because of its durability and versatility. In the same sense, upon eating the yams, perhaps the Narrator is “absorbing” (bear with me) the durability and versatility of the black community. Despite adversity, they have managed to persevere through for centuries, much like the Narrator has despite the circumstances he has gone through. We see his versatility portrayed in his invisibility, his ability to adapt to his environment and make people see “everything except” him. Additionally, yams denote wealth and privilege in multiple African tribes. They are often celebrated, such as the annual Iwaji festival in the Igbo culture.

This could be the significance that the Narrator exemplifies and Kendrick emphasizes. The yam represents more than holding onto the roots of a culture. It seems to be that the cultural significance stretches farther back than a world the Narrator knows. And the yam itself represents that far-reaching struggle

Why the Narrator’s Rebirth Occurred When It Did.

Why the Narrator’s Rebirth Occurred When It Did.

After being injured in an accident at the paint factory, the Narrator of Invisible Man is forced to be held in a hospital. While being “cared for”, he undergoes a number of sensations and experiences, including being in an enclosed space, hearing a woman's voice, and having a cord cut off of his stomach, which all give the semblance of him being rebirthed. He comes out a new man, stumbling and struggling to understand the unfamiliar world around him. This is the start of a new chapter, if you will, in the Narrator’s life. One separate from Bledsoe and Norton, separate from his former submission and meekness.

But why now? What is so special about the accident and the paint factory that the Narrator had to be reborn then? Surely there were several other moments of change, of revelation, where his identity could’ve been shed and he could’ve become a new man. What about, for example, when he finds out that Bledsoe gave him eight letters essentially sentencing him to die? Why was that not a rebirth? Or how about the speeches the vet gives him explaining his situation? Or when the Narrator yells at Bledsoe? Why did his rebirth occur only after he had experienced and realized those things, rather than when he experienced and realized those things?

Ellison gives the sense that perhaps the Narrator is not ready to be reborn prior to the paint accident. Upon arriving in Harlem, for example, he opens a Gideon Bible and attempts to read it, but cannot. The book he opens to is Genesis. For Star Trek fans like myself, you’ll recognize this as a device that was capable of creating habitable planets from nothing. To less sci-fi-y people and more Bible-y people, this is the first book of the Bible, the one where God creates Earth, the Book of birth and creation. It is striking that in this chapter the Narrator cannot start a new book, as it were. Ellison seems to suggest that perhaps he is unable to be rebirthed yet.

But what about after this? The Bible is at the beginning of the Narrator’s journey in Harlem, so it might be excusable. But the Narrator’s encounter with Emerson seems like it should very well be the tipping point. And in many ways it is. The Narrator’s anger bubbles up, he starts thinking rebellious thoughts, it's clearly something within him has changed. So why is it that he has to undergo yet another process in order to become a new man? Part of it may be because he hasn’t changed enough. He tries to convince himself that Emerson is lying, in an attempt to grasp on to the fleeting remnants of his former life. But what really reflects why his transformation takes place when it does can be found by looking at the paint factory.

The factory, as the Narrator describes it, is very much like a small city, a city within a city. One could take that to mean that it is merely a mini version of what may go on in the real city. Or one could also consider the fact that a factory is at the root of everything, it is where everything comes from, where the sausage is made. It is there that the Narrator can truly understand what visibility means. Nowhere but a paint factory could the Narrator learn that black drops had to be added to make something white. Nowhere but a paint factory could he have learned that they don’t understand what white really is. And then he goes deeper, to where the paint is “really made”, suggesting that perhaps even the paint factory building with the buckets is still just a facade to hide something more. In this building, he has to constantly keep balance between colors, suggesting the need for some sort of racial symmetry. Perhaps the explanations given by Bledsoe and the vet were not enough, perhaps what the Narrator needed was to really see what they meant, what was going on, the visibility of black and white.

One could also consider the idea that perhaps the Narrator still has more births to encounter altogether. Some of his behavior after his rebirth seems to suggest that he has not completely shed his old ways. He still likes giving speeches and still worships the Founder of the college that left him to the dust. And we do know that he has yet to become the person he is in the prologue, a hermit slapping away at a typewriter. I think we can look forward to a couple more “births” for the Narrator.

White Liberalism in Invisible Man's Mr. Norton

In Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man we’re presented with a rather interesting white character: Mr. Norton. Mr. Norton is a white progressive philanthropist type in that he funnels copious amounts of wealth and resources into the welfare of the African-American community in an act of self-fulfillment. But he is very unlike the white liberals we have encountered thus far. In Native Son, the closest people we encounter to Mr. Norton are the Dalton family, in particular Mr. Dalton. Both are very financially successful, presumably well-respected in the general community, and have devoted resources to the African-American community. When we first are introduced to Mr. Norton, we see him through a very similar lens to the one we see Mr. Dalton through: The black protagonist who feels every need to be/act submissive around him. Both characters also refer to “your people”, further distancing themselves from the black man before them. However, despite performing similar deeds, Mr. Norton still appears to be a rather distinct character from Mr. Dalton.

The primary difference is the fact that Mr. Norton genuinely seems to be invested in the welfare of the African-American community. While Mr. Dalton donates ping-pong tables and allows African-American families to live in his homes, he has little concern for the actual value of said ping-pong tables or for the living conditions of said African-American families. Basically, he is throwing bundles of flowers at the black community out of supposed goodwill and telling them to do with it as they see fit. At no point does he think to ask the African-American community what they need or how they are feeling, it is not until Max explains it to him that he learns and even then appears not to comprehend. Mr. Dalton is, like many people and many white philanthropist types, primarily concerned with his own good fortune.  Mr. Norton on the other hand appears to believe that his good fortune is tied to the fortune of the African-American community he has involved himself in (or so he says). He funds a university for African-Americans much in the same way that Mr. Dalton donates ping-pong tables for African-Americans. But unlike Mr. Dalton, he seems particularly concerned with the productivity of the university. His concern for the future welfare of the black students (including the narrator) stretches so far as to include what happens beyond the university.  He says that whatever occupation they take up affects him, almost as if he cares about their well-being. But this sweet sentiment is reduced by the fact that he directly links it to himself, to his own success and not purely out of sympathy for the black race.

But since whatever happens to students determines his own fate, Norton asks the Narrator to tell him his fate, by doing so not simply downplaying the master-servant dynamic that is typically present, but completely subverting it. In doing so, he shows that he holds the black population to a certain degree of importance. In fact, Norton holds them to a higher esteem than the Invisible Man does, since Norton is intrigued and willing to talk to a disgraced black rapist, even going so far as to give him a hundred dollars while the Narrator is disgusted by the man. He speaks to black people with a high level of interest, if not seeming respect, as if he is willing to learn, something never showed in philanthropists like Dalton.

That degree importance, however, is not as noble as we might hope. Mr. Norton is a very business-minded individual. He speaks with pride when telling of the success he and the Founder had in building the University. A minor thing, but he perks up enough to voice his opinion at the mention of the famed entrepreneur Rockefeller, despite having been unconscious for the majority of the scene prior. Perhaps his supposed concern for the black population is not out of goodwill, but out of interest for a potential business operation. Perhaps he sees them as assets, a steady cash flow from his University and something to build up his reputation if they find success after school. What may be most telling is that he often refers to black individuals as a collective, a hive mind. He constantly uses phrases like “your people”, insinuating their movement in tandem. Even when speaking to the individuality of African-American people, he uses “cog”, insinuating their part in a larger system he has devised for them, as if they work for him rather than being students. A very telling statement is when the Narrator asks him if he saw the ox team (presumably black or lower class) and Norton says that he “cannot see it for the trees” much in the same way he cannot see the black community as individuals. He worships business and industry, not goodwill, and as such he revels in the idea of “tens of thousands of lives dependent upon his ideas and upon his actions”, having control over such a large operation like the Founder had is Norton’s wet dream. A black man even calls him out on his inability to care for black people as individuals in chapter three, to which he responds with an amount of anger we haven’t heretofore observed, which suggests his pride has been wounded at the truth in the accusation. Black people, you could even say, are invisible to him as separate entities.

A very important question to consider however, is: How beneficial is Norton’s perspective? If it's true that he sees them as a collective system, then it's obvious he doesn’t care about them the same way most people care about other people. But he does still care about them to the extent that they can make a profit for him. Take this in contrast with Mr. Dalton, who only seems to care about his image and conscience and not about the African-American community as individuals or assets. With Norton at least there is a sense that he will vehemently defend his assets, regardless of whether or not he feels for them. Imagine if all white liberals were like Mr. Norton. Not searching around for a sense of fulfillment from black people, but merely seeing the potential of them as a collective, and doing everything they can to protect that collective. Not seeing them as something lesser and pitiful, but not seeing them at all really, since they are invisible, generally leaving them alone if their profits aren’t hurt. Then at least one could influence the actions of white liberals by promising to benefit their business ventures. Would that be better?