Invisible Man

I struggled with this book.

Maybe I've become too dependent on thrills and gratuitous violence, the topping up of dopamine levels and reward points, or getting daily pay for labour exerted?

Or perhaps it was based on weight of expectation as a classic and bound to fall flat?

Or perhaps the amount of James Joyce noodling and rambling with two few interconnected dots?

I read this book to amplify my knowledge about the historical importance of racism and slavery and to feel less ignorant about it, but instead got overloaded with introspective politics.

The question of race discrimination isn't the core of this book, but prejudice against anyone who doesn't fit into the mold, whether white, black, young, old, capable, disabled, etc., and how you're going to get singled out and cast off by not fitting in, how nothing you do makes any difference in the scheme of things.

The sense of uselessness and insignificance, hence the title: Invisible Man.

The content is warm and involving, the subject material profound, the writing style often amazing, with all the ingredients for a terrific experience and yet, for all its admirable qualities, I didn't find Invisible Man very entertaining.

Chapters are sometimes hard to follow, jumping to different perspectives through anecdotes instead of retaining a consistent feel, regularly coming across as rambling, overly political and dull.

Invisible Man feels strangely out of date and stuck in time. I'm not sure it's even relevant any more?