Customer Reviews

The Intuitionist: A Novel

5 star:		(24)
4 star:		(20)
3 star:		(9)
2 star:		(8)
1 star:		(4)

 

 

Whitehead shoots for the stars but barely clears the clouds. His prose ranges wildly from the enjoyably seamy to the (unintentionally) absurdly pseudo-poetic and his characterizations remain largely simple-minded and very, very male. This, despite the fact that our heroine is, well, a heroine. The more the book attempts to draw parallels between racial harmony and mechanical (or other) elevation, the less beleivable he becomes. And his depction of the duelling philosophies of Intuition and Empiriciam winds up smacking of the starkest and cheapest (reverse) racism. There is some choice writing here, but increasingly one just wants Whitehead to stop posturing and get on with the story. If he had had something interesting to say about race and an interesting way of putting it, I'm sure I would have felt otherwise.

That says it all. I loved this book.

The central analogy of Colson Whitehead's "The Intuitionist" is quite simple: the elevator, an important device in the skyward expansion of metropolitan areas, can also serve to lift blacks into an equal position with whites. It's simple, but it's also, at first thought, quite clumsy. I know that was my reaction upon beginning this book. Just like the advancement of modern engineering principles and the development of newer, stronger materials helped further develop the concrete jungle, so to must other factors assist the racial problem. But Whitehead, an eminently skilled writer, has thought of this too. And he knows something you don't know: it won't end the way you think it will end. Armed with this knowledge, he is able to freely create his world.

And what a world it is. Set in an unnamed metropolis, characterized by "magnificent elevated trains, five daily newspapers, [and] two baseball stadiums" that leaves some of its residents "too afraid to leave the house", Whitehead has created a hermetically sealed society. He never flinches in his portrayal, offering up detail after detail of his little world that are at once believable and credible. The centrepiece of this society, the raison d'etre, is that it takes elevator culture very seriously. A weekly magazine, dedicated to said culture, is called "Lift". Visionaries, such as Elisha Graves Otis and the recently deceased James Fulton, are revered much in the same that Plato or Aristotle are in our world. And the Department of Elevator Inspectors serves as a neat little microcosm of the whole, not to mention a terribly desirable place of employment. This is where the title character, Lila Mae Watson, works. That is until the Number 11 cab at the Fanny Briggs building went into a free fall a day after her inspection ("Verticality is such a risky enterprise"). This is the cataclysmic event off of which the story unfolds.

Lila Mae is a strange creation. She is cynical, headstrong, and fiercely intelligent (Case in point: she "does not expect human beings to conduct themselves in any other way but how they truly are. Which is weak"). She's had a perfect record as an Intuitionist inspector in a world dominated by Empiricists. But she's also learned to live in a racist world where she is the only female elevator inspector. Watch her bite her tongue when a pushy salesman espouses the virtues of skin-lighteners and hair-straighteners. Or see her reaction when, at a yearly banquet thrown by the Department, she's confronted by the antics of Hambone and Mr. Grizzard, a minstrel show eaten up by her white colleagues. Lila Mae must keep her head, for in her search for the truth about the accident she is confronted by a series of shady characters, none of whom she can really trust. Or can she?

It is this part of the book, within the detective story narrative, where Whitehead really shines. He mixes into his dystopia nightmare a healthy amount of neo-film noir elements. People are always sizing each other up, doing things to gauge reactions. A security guard asks to see Lila Mae's badge, but he never really looks at it. "He just asked for effect," comments Whitehead's spare narrator. Later, a scene is set inside a hotel room, where "the red neon of the liquor store sign across the street flashes... off and on." You almost expect Humphrey Bogart to emerge from such scenes. Which makes for a fine contrast when you once again realize that you're reading Lila Mae's story. There is nothing Bogart about her.

Up until the final act, I wasn't sure if I bought into all of Whitehead's ideas. However, in that final act, he brings things together so smoothly and so efficiently, I couldn't help but see the light that he was shining right into my face. His elevator analogy congeals nicely. It ably pulls back society's veil to reveal that, as the fictional Mr. Fulton once wrote, "There is another world beyond this one." Pay attention throughout, be patient at the beginning, and trust that what Whitehead has for you at the end will make the whole enterprise worthwhile. Follow this recipe, and you'll be impressed by "The Intuitionist" as much as I was.

In The Intuitionist, Colson Whitehead portrays a caricature of twentieth-century America, its faults and ambitions done in glaring chromatic contrast. Social, political, philosophical, religious, and educational institutions are indicted with a biting wit and bitter irony by Whitehead in this, his first novel. Lila Mae Watson is the first black woman in her city?s department of elevator inspectors, the gem of the metropolis? bulky bureaucracy. There is a schism in the ranks of elevator inspectors between the Empiricists and Intuitionists (any further explaining of the two factions can be explained by the novel) that leads to much internal conflict, a conflict that brings Watson to its center when her perfect record is brought into question by a near fatal accident involving an elevator for which she was responsible.
Whitehead satirizes even the genre itself in a fantastic, almost sci-fi world with the racial issues of our country in the 1950s and a near religious devotion (by some, at least) to the study of elevation. The institutions of race, government, organized crime, and escalatory studies serve not as static symbols of the modern urban landscape but are fluid enough to comment upon social phenomena almost interchangeably. Indeed, the parodies almost seem to parodize traditional satirical depictions. Some reviewers have heralded Whitehead?s work as a contemporary Catch-22 and many will find humor in its philosophical meanderings and extensive hyperbole on the nature of vertical conveyance but the novel lacks the pace and absurdity of Heller?s work. Although I was never made to laugh out loud as with Catch-22 and Whitehead?s view of society is rather bleak, The Intuitionist earns its merits, leading this reader to give it a score of six and a half thumbs up (out of a possible ten).

If Spike Lee married Ben Katchor, their son might write The Intuitionist. But since this is unlikely to happen, Colson Whitehead had to do it instead.

A powerful racial allegory written with unpretentious clarity and a cynical, deadpan sense of humor, The Intuitionist is set in an unnamed but clearly New York-based metropolis that shares many qualities with the off-kilter city inhabited by Katchor's comic creation, Julius Knipl. The Intuitionist's city could be an earlier, more vital stage of Julius Knipl's just-past-its-prime version of New York. Whitehead vividly evokes this setting while telling a seriocomic story about a clash between factions of elevator inspectors that unexpectedly takes on racial overtones. The Intuitionist is remarkable first for its setting, second for the matter-of-fact way Whitehead writes, which is witty, incisive, and intelligent without making it seem as if the author is in love with the sound of his own voice, and finally for the character of the protagonist, Lila Mae Watson, who is tightly wound and hard-bitten but still sympathetic.

The Intuitionist is well worth reading, and while it is a challenging read due to its depths and undercurrents, it is also a fast and enjoyable one because Whitehead does not neglect character, plot, and general readability in the name of "literature." If the reader will forgive a lame pun, like a well inspected elevator, The Intuitionist works on all its chosen levels.

Elevators? A mystery about _elevators_? Only Colson Whitehead could pull it off -- this stunningly complex novel raises questions that aren't easily answered, even after the central mystery is uncovered. _The Intuitionist_ is the story of two rival ideologies in the elevator inspecting world: Empiricism, which draws conclusions based on observable evidence, and Intuitionism, which seeks to comprehend the essence of an elevator to diagnose its problems. When Elevator Number 11 in the city's Fannie Briggs Building crashes in a catastrophic accident, Intuitionist inspector Lila Mae Watson is incriminated for negligence, but suspects that she has been framed in an attempt to aid the Empiricist candidate in the upcoming Guild elections. Lila Mae's quest to clear her name, as well as proving herself as the first black female elevator inspector in history, becomes an exploration into the heart of the political and ideological machinery of the city.

_The Intuitionist_, on the outside, is a meticulously composed noir detective story, with a Gotham-like city of glass and steel and characters with names bordering on the stereotypical (Johnny Shush the mobster, for example). But Whitehead only employs that structure as a foundation for a much more intricate postmodern work that deals with alienation, loneliness, and the failure of meaningful communication in the face of looming technology. Lila Mae finds herself embroiled in a search for the mythical "black box," the perfect elevator that will lift civilization to a new vision of the city, conceived by the father of Intuitionism, James Fulton. In her pursuit of answers to the black box and the Fannie Briggs Building accident, however, Lila Mae uncovers the most earth-shattering secret of all.

In a masterfully crafted, cleverly constructed novel that fully rewards second and third readings, Colson Whitehead deconstructs the concepts of race, human communication, and dominance and servanthood. Whitehead succeeds in drawing the reader into the cutthroat world of, yes, elevator inspecting, then turning that world upside down. Playing delicately with the reader's preconceptions, _The Intuitionist_ proposes a future for humanity that transcends the existing social order.

Read it, and you will never look at elevators the same way again.

Elevators? A mystery about _elevators_? Only Colson Whitehead could pull it off -- this stunningly complex novel raises questions that aren't easily answered, even after the central mystery is uncovered. _The Intuitionist_ is the story of two rival ideologies in the elevator inspecting world: Empiricism, which draws conclusions based on observable evidence, and Intuitionism, which seeks to comprehend the essence of an elevator to diagnose its problems. When Elevator Number 11 in the city's Fannie Briggs Building crashes in a catastrophic accident, Intuitionist inspector Lila Mae Watson is incriminated for negligence, but suspects that she has been framed in an attempt to aid the Empiricist candidate in the upcoming Guild elections. Lila Mae's quest to clear her name, as well as proving herself as the first black female elevator inspector in history, becomes an exploration into the heart of the political and ideological machinery of the city.

_The Intuitionist_, on the outside, is a meticulously composed noir detective story, with a Gotham-like city of glass and steel and characters with names bordering on the stereotypical (Johnny Shush the mobster, for example). But Whitehead only employs that structure as a foundation for a much more intricate postmodern work that deals with alienation, loneliness, and the failure of meaningful communication in the face of looming technology. Lila Mae finds herself embroiled in a search for the mythical "black box," the perfect elevator that will lift civilization to a new vision of the city, conceived by the father of Intuitionism, James Fulton. In her pursuit of answers to the black box and the Fannie Briggs Building accident, however, Lila Mae uncovers the most earth-shattering secret of all.

In a masterfully crafted, cleverly constructed novel that fully rewards second and third readings, Colson Whitehead deconstructs the concepts of race, human communication, and dominance and servanthood. Whitehead succeeds in drawing the reader into the cutthroat world of, yes, elevator inspecting, then turning that world upside down. Playing delicately with the reader's preconceptions, _The Intuitionist_ proposes a future for humanity that transcends the existing social order.

Read it, and you will never look at elevators the same way again.

Colson Whitehad's "The Intuitionist" is a splendid alternate reality set in an idealized New York City - the city is unnamed - that shows a fascinating blend of 19th Century culture and 20th Century architecture. The Intuitionist heroine, Lila Mae, is an elevator inspector - the city's only black woman inspector - who must explain why an elevator suddenly falls in one of the city's most important buildings, before she becomes the scapegoat for this near disaster. Amidst her quest is the ongoing struggle to control the elevator inspector's union between the dominant Empiricist and fringe Intuitionist factions.

"The Intuitionist" is both a fascinating allegory on race relations and an equally compelling allegory on science versus faith. Whitehead's deftly written, lyrical prose swept me along on a swift rollercoaster of a ride through Lila Mae's quest. Without a doubt, Whitehead's first novel is an excellent literary debut; I look forward to reading his other works soon.

Whitehead's debut novel signals the arrival of talent one can look forward to reading for many years-a talent displayed as learned, playful, and enigmatic in this melange of genres. This book demands close scrutiny and examination to uncover it's layers of meaning. Aside from some backstory in the South, the book is set in a stylized New York sometime in what seems to be the 1920s-40s. Like Magnus Mills' rural settings for his wonderful black comedies All Quiet on the Orient Express, and The Restraint of Beasts, this is a place both recognizable to us and slightly askew. The story concerns a city elevator inspector, Lila Mae, who is the first black woman to hold such a position. In this setting, the civil service position holds a level of prestige and authority, and one must graduate from a Ivy Leaguesque school to get a plumb New York job. Lila Mae is also an "intuitionist", part of a small minority of elevator inspectors who intuit problems rather than carry out mechanical inspections. When an elevator she's recently inspected goes into a freefall, she's forced underground to try and discover who sabotaged it and why, or else she'll take the fall (no pun intended).

Whitehead then starts riffing with many traditional pulp/noir mystery elements: crusading journalist, wisecracking mob heavies, duplicitous love interest, taciturn deadpan hero, big money interests, a maggufin, etc.-but clearly there's more going on. It appears to be some kind of racial allegory, but one that's far to abstract and sophisticated for me to take more than a stab at. One intriguing review described the book as "a sophisticated picture of the Science Wars and the Academic Left." I'm in no position to comment on that characterization, but apparently you can check out a book called Higher Superstition: The Academic Left and Its Quarrels With Science for more information on that battle. In any event, whatever the deeper meaning, the novel is quite enjoyable on its surface level as Whitehead fashions a fascinating and entirely convincing elevator inspector culture, an entirely human protagonist, and a page-turning intrigue.

This is a very odd book. It is extremely well written, the use of language is consistently superb, but it feels "under imagined".

The premise is very interesting: it is set in a vaguely alternate New York (never stated but always strongly implied) in the late 1940's or early 1950's (also implied) in which elevators, "vertical transport", their study, and maintanance have acquired a prominence bordering on the mystical. Into this setting is placed the city's first black female elevator inspector who immediately becomes embroiled in an intrigue involving a philisophical schism within the vertical transport community, a race to discover a lost technological development that may completely alter the world of elevators, racially and philisophically motivated sabotage, and some provocative questions about the true identity of one of the elevator world's most influential figures.

Interesting and provocative, no? Well, actually, no. The reviewer comments on the paperback edition I have make favorable comparisons between the author and Thomas Pynchon, among others. I think the author fails the Pynchon test when it comes to invention. He has offered a very intriguing premise, but fails to develop it fully enough. Perhaps it is simply a premise without adequate reserves to mine. About one third of the way through, I found myself balking at the notion that at the mid-point of the 20th century elevators could be held in such reverence and conferred with the mysticism as they are by the characters of this book. The conflating of the progress of African Americans and the "upward mobility" implied by elevators has been commented upon by others, but I am sure there are more compelling contexts for that message. Maybe I'm missing something.

The whole "story" level of the book is similar. The characters are not even stereotypes, they are outlines with very little definition at all. To some extent, the main character Lila Mae, and a man named Natchez buck this trend, but only slightly.

This sheer lack of definition provides the book with a dream-like quality toward the beginning, but this sense of dreaminess cannot be sustained through the full 300+ pages, and ultimately feels like a failure of imagination.

As I said, the writing is beautiful, and often striking. It reminds me of a remark I once heard attributed to John Le Carre to the effect that what a writer really enjoys is building sentences, and that plot is a trick that he plays on his readers to offer him the opportunity to do that. Would that Mr. Whitehead were able to trick us a little more fully.