Lila Mae Watson is the city's first female and second African American elevator inspector. In any ordinary universe, this would be a rather unremarkable achievement. However, in the world Whitehead creates for us, this is extraordinary. You see, elevator inspectors are held in high regard in this world -- it's a calling that requires 3 years of training at The Institute for Vertical Transport, one that parents dream of for their children.

It's an election year in the Elevator Guild, and by long tradition, the head of the Guild gets the job of head of the city's Department of Elevator Inspectors. The Department is torn between two factions: Empiricists, who work by directly observing the mechanisms that drive the elevators they inspect; and Intuitionists, who feel the mechanisms and sense the elevator's state of being. The Empiricists have long controlled the Guild, but this year, the Intuitionists have a real chance of winning.

Lila Mae is an Intuitionist. She's not overtly political, but she falls into this conflict. The book is somewhat disconcerting, as the details of the city are drawn from various cities and eras, creating an urban landscape that is jarring and a bit unnerving. The fact that the entire story is told from within the Department of Elevator Inspectors is further disquieting, as the reader is never certain whether the Inspectors really hold such high status, or if they just think they do.

But in the end, none of that matters. The book deals with larger themes of race, vertical movement (both physical and social) and destiny in a fascinating way that blends biography and history with chance and circumstance. This is the most unusual and most engrossing book I have read in a very long time. I loved it. And I will definitely never look at an elevator the same way again.

Whitehead came to my attention via a list of the 2002 McArthur Award winners. Based on my experience with this first of his two novels, I think he deserved it. I'll leave you with this sample of his prose to consider:

When a memo circulating soon after the raises announced that the new screwdrivers were on their way, few cared that the Guild Chair was so naked in his attempt to score points with the electorate. For the new screwdrivers were quite beautiful. Ever since the city granted license to the Department, bulky and ungainly screwdrivers had poked and bulged in the back pockets of the elevator inspectors, completely ruining any attempts at dapperness and savoir faire. It's difficult to look official and imposing while listing to one side. The new screwdrivers have mother-of-pearl handles and heads the exact width of an inspection-plate screw. They fold out like jackknives and lend themselves to baroque fantasies about spies and secret missions. And who can argue with that?