Robert Crumb—or “R Crumb” for those who appreciate a bit of self-branding—is the towering titan of modern cartooning and an enigmatic character wrapped in a cloak of quirkiness. Dan Nadel’s biography of this cartoonist extraordinaire is a fastidious exploration that gives you all the juicy details you didn’t know you needed, and possibly some you’re better off forgetting.
For ages, Crumb was the unofficial poster boy for the straight world, most recognized for the cover art of Big Brother and the Holding Company’s Janis Joplin album, *Cheap Thrills*, and for those swoon-inducing, elongated stoner figures with the catchy “Keep on Truckin’” slogan that made their way onto countless dorm-room walls and, let’s not forget, truck mudflaps. But that was merely the icing on the cake—he was the visionary behind the underground comic scene of the Sixties and Seventies and a pivotal figure in the creation of Zap Comix.
Crumb gifted us a pantheon of LSD-influenced characters that each have their own unique blend of lust, absurdity, and philosophical mischief. Thanks to his unmistakable hatching style, characters like Mr. Natural, Fritz the Cat, and his most introspective alter ego—R Crumb, that lanky fellow in milk bottle glasses—burst forth, brimming with neuroses and existential dilemmas that could fill a therapist’s entire calendar year.
In his quest for inspiration, Crumb learned from the likes of Harvey Kurtzman, the anarchist mastermind behind *Mad* magazine, as well as Carl Barks, the anonymous wizard behind Donald Duck comics, fondly dubbed by Crumb as “the good duck artist.” And the ripple effect? Let’s just say without Crumb, we might never have met the likes of Art Spiegelman, Chris Ware, or Daniel Clowes—no pressure there, right? As Spiegelman, creator of *Maus*, succinctly put it: “Every cartoonist has to pass through Crumb.” Encountering Crumb is akin to witnessing the fast-forward scene in *2001: A Space Odyssey*; you just have to level up that way to discover your own voice.
Despite being an icon of the Sixties counterculture, Crumb has always exhibited a rather singular—and dare I say, retro—viewpoint. His cherished hobby of collecting old 78rpm shellac records points to a fondness for a bygone era, while his political views, though anti-corporate in nature, are mostly a vehicle for his merciless self-examination. Let’s just say if you were hoping for a fairy-tale upbringing, Crumb’s childhood in a turbulent, lower-middle-class family from Philadelphia would have you rethinking that. With an operatically unhappy family rife with addiction and the dark cloud of mental illness, escaping into the realms of creativity seems less like a choice and more like a survival tactic.
Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room: Crumb’s work is, without debate, what the kiddos these days might deem #problematic. From hyper-sexualized depictions of women to the frequently comedic portrayal of rape in his early comics, it’s a conundrum that ruffles feathers across generations. Crumb, along with his biographer, might defend him by stating that he merely acts as a mirror to reflect the cultural stereotypes of his time—how convenient for him, really.
Crumb’s self-portrayals can be brutally honest. In one particularly memorable panel captured by Nadel, Crumb appears as a cartoonist plagued by guilt, cringing under the wrathful words of an angry woman—as she throws accusations of “chauvinist pig” and “privileged pervert” at him. There he stands, saying he’ll “be good, I promise!” while internally cursing women under his breath like a sulking teenage boy. Not exactly a glowing endorsement of progressive ideals!
His sexual escapades read like a surrealist novel laced with neurosis. With a peculiar fetish for women with robust legs—an obsession plastered across his work like an artist’s signature—the line between art and reality remains comically blurred. And while other men were getting #metooed left and right, Crumb managed to sidestep legal chaos, all while navigating through failed marriages and questionable parenting choices—mildly impressive if we’re handing out medals for chaos management.
As time pressed onward, Crumb found himself regrettably blocked—not by jail bars or social media scandals, mind you, but by the retreat of the counterculture that once lauded him. His later work, portrayed with a more disillusioned realism, attempted to banish the ghost of the Sixties. When punk emerged, he embraced its ethos, only to feel the sting of mockery when a punk fanzine labelled his work as tired. In a moment of melodramatic flair, he offed his beloved character, Mr. Natural, declaring himself washed up—perhaps softer than we’d expect from the titan of comic narratives.
Now, as the pendulum swings in his favor, Crumb’s artwork suddenly fetches some serious coin, just as he stops actively creating. Money issues? Ah yes, his relationship with finances was as messy as his childhood home. Declining high-paying gigs to preserve integrity, he turned down hefty sums for merchandise and album covers, often swayed by artistic disdain. “Who needs money when you have artistic principles?” he would probably not say, adding irony to an already ironic life.
Nadel’s portrayal of Crumb, while incredibly detailed, is also layered with a wealth of comic history—making it a treasure trove for seasoned fans and unsuspecting neophytes alike. The author meticulously documents nearly every detail of Crumb’s creative journey, including nuanced discussions about print runs and artistic tools—a nerdy love letter to an artist complex enough to warrant it. Widowed and residing in rural France, Crumb seems to have settled into the quietude of his later years, perhaps echoing the wisdom of his work: life is a messy pursuit, best depicted in hatching and exclamation points.
Crumb: A Cartoonist’s Life by Dan Nadel (Scribner £25 pp458). To order a copy, please navigate to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discounts available for Times+ members, because who doesn’t love a good deal?
