Ralph Ellison. 
 
Gollancz: 1953. First British edition. Hardcover in a jacket. Octavo. A bit of chipping, wrinkling, and tanning along the edges of the jacket. Spine leaning a little. A few bumps along the edges of the boards. Wrinkling on the foot and heel of the spine. Dots of foxing on the top edge of the text block. A few dots of stain on the endpaper, but the text block and text are clean. 439 pages. Very good. 
 
Ellison never published another novel because of the heights he knew his debut reached. A serious and self-aware candidate for the great American novel, spanning black American experience from the deep South to the streets of the citified North. This edition, the British first, with its pretty but functional type and Gollancz format, gives the reader that casual invitation to spend a few late nights with beautiful prose and a great story. 

"In my hole in the basement there are exactly 1,369 lights. I've wired the entire ceiling, every inch of it. And not with fluorescent bulbs, but with the older, more-expensive-to-operate kind, the filament type. An act of sabotage, you know. I've already begun to wire the wall. A junk man I know, a man of vision, has supplied me with wire and sockets. Nothing, storm or flood, must get in the way of our need for light and ever more and brighter light. The truth is the light and light is the truth. When I finish all four walls, then I'll start on the floor."