Robert Crumb—known affectionately as “R Crumb” to his fans and therapists—is not just a prominent figure in modern cartooning; he’s also a certified oddball, like a fine wine that was left out in the sun. Dan Nadel’s meticulously crafted biography serves as a one-stop shop for all things Crumb, covering his quirks and comic genius with the detail of an overzealous archaeologist digging for dinosaur bones.
For a long stretch, Crumb was recognized primarily for the cover art of Cheap Thrills featuring Big Brother and the Holding Company, accompanied by a mind-bending assortment of long-legged, stoned figures flaunting the slogan “Keep on Truckin’”—a catchphrase that somehow became synonymous with dorm rooms and trucker mudflaps. But we can’t be fooled by that facade; Crumb was the underground comic scene’s main attraction during the Sixties and Seventies—the mad scientist behind Zap Comix.
This man was a veritable kaleidoscope of LSD-infused absurdity, presenting us with characters that ranged from the philosophically dubious to the outright bizarre. With his signature hatching style, he gifted us a rogues’ gallery that includes Mr. Natural, the Snoid, and his most intimately troubling alter ego, R Crumb—the lanky guy with milk-bottle glasses brimming with neuroses and grievances.
Crumb drew inspiration from legends like Harvey Kurtzman of Mad fame and Carl Barks, the “good duck artist” of Donald Duck lore. In turn, the comic world learned from Crumb. Nadel argues convincingly: without Crumb, we wouldn’t have the likes of Art Spiegelman, Chris Ware, or even Daniel Clowes. Spiegelman himself once likened encountering Crumb to “the evolution scene in 2001.” It’s like a rite of passage—cross the Crumb waters to discover your own cartooning voice.
Despite being an icon of the Sixties counterculture, Crumb was more of a nostalgic soul, constantly rummaging through boxes of 78rpm shellac records like an eccentric grandparent at a yard sale. His comic artistry often harkens back to the Victorian age—think dusty salons rather than psychedelia. Crumb’s politics are anticorporate at best, but he seems more interested in giving us a peek into his own psyche than summarizing society’s flaws.
Born in 1943 in the tumultuous embrace of Philadelphia’s lower-middle-class family drama, Crumb’s upbringing reads like an unfiltered soap opera infused with violence and addiction. His beloved older brother, the original partner in childhood comic shenanigans, took a tragic flight from the family legacy with a suicide in 1992 after enduring the mental rollercoaster of life. That Crumb even made it out with his artistic faculties intact feels a bit miraculous, indicative of either extraordinary resilience or great comedic irony—perhaps both.
Of course, Crumb is what we affectionately (or maybe not-so-affectionately) call #problematic. Characters like Angelfood McSpade are hyper-stereotyped caricatures, while early comics feature casual depictions of rape as punchlines. Crumb defends his work by suggesting he simply mirrors the cultural context rather than creating it. It’s less a reflection of society on a funhouse mirror and more of a tragicomic facepalm for humanity.
You can’t deny Crumb’s salacious success, where he navigated the Sixties while somehow managing to avoid the more extreme repercussions of his behavior. A series of failed partnerships, resulting in a son he negligently overlooked, eventually led him to a still-swinging relationship with Aline Kominsky—an arrangement that was anything but exclusive. Later in his career, as the counterculture shifted, Crumb attempted to distance himself from the past, trading psychedelic antics for down-to-earth illustrations, all while grappling with the youthful essence of punk.
And let’s not overlook his unapologetic refusal to sell out. Crumb, that lovable contrarian, turned down thousands for various gigs, holding onto his principles like a child refusing to let go of a favorite toy. Whether he was rejecting offers for merchandise or iconic covers involving mainstream music acts, his commitment to artistic integrity often appeared more monk-like than his wild persona would suggest.
Now residing in rural France and entering his nineties, Crumb remains a complex figure. When Nadel approached him for a candid portrait, Crumb reportedly shrugged and said, “I’m not opposed to it.” Four months, a plane ride, and a long car ride later, it’s safe to say we’ve been gifted with an essential read for anyone wishing to peel back the layers of this notorious icon.
Crumb: A Cartoonist’s Life by Dan Nadel (Scribner £25 pp458). To order a copy, head to timesbookshop.co.uk—never forget, free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discounts available for Times+ members as well, because who doesn’t enjoy a good deal?
