The Intuitionist

A screaming comes across the sky: a book, a snapped elevator cable...it's Colson Whitehead! How did this guy get so incredibly good, so young? His meticulously-crafted, ashy-grey midcentury metropolis looms up like something out of Hopper by way of Pynchon; the central metaphor of upward mobility - which could be so godawful mawkish - is never handled any less than deftly; the protagonist wears the weight of her overdetermination proudly, despite every conceivable undermining. I leave the details to the intrepid reader, but I've simply got to sing the praises of those stretches - where Whitehead's characters contemplate "the second elevation" that will transfigure the cities and the citizens of the day after tomorrow - whose sweep and pellucid elegance rival anything in the best science fiction for sending chills ricocheting up & down my spine. If race (understood narrowly as the black/white dichotomy) is still & always the central American dilermma, maximum kudos to Whitehead for finding a new metaphor with which to approach it. Buy it, read it, pass it on to those two or three of your friends you can always trust to really *get* stuff: this is where 21st century American Literature starts. (And they better be teaching this book as such, dammit, not ghettoize it to Ethnic Studies.)

Just the research alone into the world of elevator inspectors is worthy of admiration. But, when presented in such an original and well-written manner is worthy of much praise. Lila Mae Watson is one of the most interesting characters to have come down the pike in quite some time. I was completely enthralled in Lila Mae's adventures from the first page. Mr. Whitehead is quite adept at telling a story and keeping it interesting. I was pleasantly suprised by the inventiveness, imagination and originality of Mr. Whitehead's prose. He deserves a thousand thanks for bringing his refreshing new voice to the world of African-American fiction.

You ought not to throw the "genius" label around too much. I guess. So I'll circle around it, limiting myself to this: This is a work of exquisite originality that dazzles in every way. The language. The conception. The story. Most stunning of all, of course, is the way Whitehead has crafted an ingenious new form for a meditation on the most pressing problem of U.S. society: racism. What a deep contribution this book is. What a shame, though not at all surprising, that it is not being read by the whole country.

Weird, deadpan-funny, deadly serious, spooky and, in the person of its protagonist Lila Mae Watson, achingly human and real. This book dissolves the borders between several genres - speculative fiction, noir mystery, satire - in a manner I found reminiscent of the work of Jonathan Lethem. But Whitehead creates an original world here (think 1940s New York shifted slightly into a parallel universe) and illuminates it with his dazzling prose. Some magazine reviews have over-emphasized the book's racial content. Don't be misled; this book is relevant to anyone who has lived (or spent any time in!) a major city, or experienced alienation, or pondered the schism between the physical and the metaphysical. It's also a LOT of fun. I'll be waiting anxiously to see what Whitehead does next.