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New York Times

Feature: ‘Crumb,' by Dan Nadel

How fortunate that my first parasocial relationship, as they're now called, was with a genius. I encountered Robert Crumb's work at the age of 8 or 9, when his comics could be found — lurking and sweating — in the 'Counterculture' section of my local used-book store in San Francisco. Frightening stuff for a kid. Titillating, too. But 'Counterculture' was crammed with scary and spicy material. Only Crumb's work, specifically the autobiographical comics, wormed under my skin. The worming occurred, I understood much later, because of the material's intimacy. Few artists have the technical ability, desire, intellect and courage (or berserk compulsion) to render their souls legible on a page — not to mention their kinks, agonies, protruding Adam's apple and sub-ramrod posture. What I was sensing in my bookstore adventures with Crumb was an early glimmer of what it might mean to truly know a person, with all the joy and terror that such knowing entails. It hardly mattered that I would never meet the man. Except, 30 years later, I did. One morning in April an elegant figure in a fedora strolled up Avenue A in the East Village. He was instantly recognizable for his spidery hands and Coke-bottle glasses. With him was the author and curator Dan Nadel, who has written 'Crumb: A Cartoonist's Life,' a superb biography of an artist who, starting in the 1960s, changed the shape of comics in every decade that followed. Nothing escaped the penetrating eye of Crumb, whose work took on liberal hypocrisy, sexual and racial violence, Christianity, drugs, the C.I.A., existential distress, love, consumerism and death. To help promote the book Crumb had flown over from France, where he has lived since 1991 in a house that his late wife, the influential artist Aline Kominsky-Crumb, found for the family. We met at the restaurant Superiority Burger, where the artist and his biographer slouched in a red booth and deplored the state of modern pants. Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times. Thank you for your patience while we verify access. Already a subscriber? Log in. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.