"I am an invisible man."

When 32-year-old Ralph Ellison penned these words in the summer of 1945, he wrote himself into history. It became the opening line of his first -- and only -- novel, "Invisible Man," now a classic.

In his absorbing biography, Arnold Rampersad chronicles Ellison's journey from the poverty of segregated Oklahoma to the rarefied literary circles of Manhattan. The Stanford University professor, who also has written biographies of Langston Hughes, Jackie Robinson and W.E.B. Du Bois, was given unlimited access to the Ellison estate, and he uses it to stunning effect.

		"RALPH ELLISON: A BIOGRAPHY" By Arnold Rampersad Knopf ($35)

Named Ralph Waldo after New England's Emerson, Ellison was born in Oklahoma City in 1913. After his father was killed in a freak accident, his mother was left to struggle to support her two sons.

In 1933, glad to escape the shame of his family's lowly means, Ellison hopped a freight train to study music at Alabama's Tuskegee Institute. He would never graduate, but his stint at the all-black college would provide him plenty of material for "Invisible Man."

Heading to Harlem, he met Richard Wright and Langston Hughes, who encouraged his writing. His friendships with both black authors became strained as their visions of America clashed and as his fortunes soared.

Ellison died in 1994 at 81. "Juneteenth," culled by his estate from the massive manuscript he left behind, appeared in 2000 to little acclaim.

Why was Ellison unable to complete his second novel? Rampersad hints at several possibilities. A prickly man, Ellison was a notorious perfectionist. Success also may have been a factor; offers to teach and speak constantly distracted him.

Rampersad dispels the notion that a fire at his summer home caused the setback. Over time the number of pages lost in the blaze conveniently increased.

A more compelling explanation is Ellison's estrangement from the very roots he was attempting to write about. Eager to be defined as an American, not a "Negro" writer, Ellison remained aloof from most other black authors.

Flirting with communism in his youth, he had become a believer in American liberalism, opposing the separatism of the Black Power movement and even Black Studies.

He collected African art but made it clear he was not interested in that continent's problems. The first black to be admitted to the prestigious Century Club, he never sponsored another African-American to join (and actively worked against opening up the club to women of any race).

"Ralph saw no reason to push for change based on racial reasons. He had earned his way in. Let other blacks do the same," writes Rampersad.

Ironically, given his lack of interest in young black writers, by the "late 1980s and early 1990s, Ellison could argue that many, if not most ... were in a sense his artistic progeny," says Rampersad.

Ellison's integrationist but race-proud vision also has gained acceptance among black Americans who emphasize individual responsibility and achievement in the face of racism.

"His message was unequivocal: 'Let's stop being victims,' " writes Rampersad.

Refusing a life of invisibility, Ellison never was one.