36 pgs. B&W | $5.99
“Paranoia is not a fun thing,” legendary underground cartoonist Robert Crumb explains within the first few panels of Tales of Paranoia, his first new comic book in 23 years published earlier this week by Fantagraphics. Remarkably, with his return to alternative comics, a format for all intents and purposes he invented or at least popularized in 1968 with his anthology comic ZAP, Crumb proves his unique perspective (unique is very much an understatement here) and artwork are just as vital today as at any point in his lifelong career. In Tales of Paranoia, he returns, now 81 years old, with twelve densely-packed short comic stories. Over 36 pages, Crumbs explores his conspiratorial mistrust of everything from vaccines, the “deep state,” and, ultimately, existence—at least as we commonly understand it.
Alongside an illustration of himself shivering alone in the dark, he elaborates on the nature of his paranoia: “It involves feelings of helplessness, a fear—a dread that someone, or maybe some group, has malevolent intentions towards you, wants to conceal the truth from you… you start imagining all kinds of terrible things! You can scare the living bejeeziz out of yourself! I oughta know… I’ve done it thousands of times.” No wonder the cover of the issue comes complete with a disclaimer: “Warning: this comic is not popular entertainment.”
Though not intended to be entertaining, Tales of Paranoia is simultaneously fascinating, frustrating, and freeing. R. Crumb is a singular voice in comics. His name will always be synonymous with underground cartooning, the art of crafting comics on all topics of life, even seedy, unpleasant stories, despite their perception as offensive to mainstream cultural values and limited commercial appeal. What is often overlooked in his career, however, is his warts-and-all contributions to the autobiographical comic genre. Crumb is certainly one of the first popular autobiographical cartoonists and is not always cited as such. What makes Tales of Paranoia engaging is that Crumb does not come off as particularly preachy, nor does he suggest solutions to address the topics that are driving his psychosis—he just gives the reader a window into his disturbing thoughts.
Crumb’s best comics have always worked more as personal journal entries meant primarily for him to work out his own demons. As a musical analogy for Crumb’s work, think of outsider songwriters like Daniel Johnston, Jandek, or St. Louis’s own Bruce Cole of The Screamin’ Mee-Mees. They were never really intended to appeal to the commercial audiences who ultimately found them, but they developed followings regardless because their art served as entry points into the minds of often-distributed artists. Since Crumb was embraced not as just an outsider artist but as an important counter-cultural figure during the late ‘60s (though he never quite fit into the “hippie” mold) and then later both revered and reviled by the fine arts community in the ‘80s, his books have maintained a valuable cultural cache.
At best, Tales of Paranoiaworks as a sympathetic gateway into understanding the conspiratorial mindset—if you have family members who have fallen into their own shades of paranoia, this comic can honestly offer a lot of insight into their state of mind. At worst, one can imagine a world in which Crumb was not a famous illustrator and Tales of Paranoia was simply a journal stumbled upon at an estate sale, dismissed as the ravings of a lunatic (albeit a profoundly talented one). Fittingly, Crumb self-consciously challenges the reader to decide for themselves, quipping on the cover: “batshit crazy or true perception—who can tell?”
What isn’t up for debate is that Robert Crumb remains one of the great comics craftsmen. Even at 81 years old, the art in Tales of Paranoia looks as though he has lost no dexterity in his hands and even rivals some of his most famous work from his early days. Each panel flows wonderfully into the next, tells a clear narrative and is meticulously cross hatched in his signature style. There is a yin and yang to Crumb’s artwork. His illustrations are clearly touched by a natural talent that feels almost divine, in contrast with the little devil on his shoulder forcing him to draw incessantly with an almost suicidal fervor. His storytelling remains exceptional as well. A general Crumb story is like if a Walt Kelly funny animal story was molested by the Marquis de Sade. Here Crumb is uncharacteristically well-informed for an octogenarian discussing modern events and technologies. He finds himself sleeplessly investigating everything from pharmaceutical companies to dozens of government agencies, all fueled by grave suspicions. Though in his exhausted state, perhaps he is doing a little too much of “his own research.”
Consequently, not all the stories succeed in Tales of Paranoia. The four pages devoted to “Deep State Woman” do not add any additional insight other than reemphasizing Crumb’s general paranoia throughout the comic.
One of the better stories is “The Very Worst LSD Trip I Ever Had.” In the infamous 1994 documentary film Crumb directed by Terry Zwigoff, the cartoonist off-handedly describes an acid trip experience in the ‘60s that was so bad that the resulting artwork became abstract and exaggerated, ironically capturing the imagination of the public and dramatically increasing his popularity. In this story, he illustrates himself talking with a hypnotherapist in the present. They discuss this bad trip that has haunted him for a lifetime as he tries desperately to analyze what happened: “Maybe it was just the drug opening me up to the realm that ‘lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge,’ to quote Rod Serling… [maybe it had] something to do with the very reason for the existence of this reality, something so shattering and unexpected that I simply could not bear to know it.” This is a lot of heavy stuff condensed into only 36 pages.
Mortality is also a major theme in Tales of Paranoia. In the story “Kiss of Death,” Crumb completes an unfinished collaborative story he was working on with his late wife Aline before she passed in 2022 depicting her insecurity that any publishing deal she gets results in the publisher inevitably going out of business. The writing implies Crumb lovingly longs to collaborate with his wife again. There are also three one-page stories in which Crumb talks directly with God, pleading with the higher power to help explain the nature of humans, the reason for life and a request to leave his grandchildren a better world. Of course, in typical comic fashion, each conversation with God ends with an unenlightened joke only reinforcing Crumb’s megalomania.
With Tales of Paranoia, Crumb unintentionally offers the reader several compelling arguments to ponder. First, he quotes the writer Christopher Hitchens: “My own opinion is enough for me, and I claim the right to have it defended against any consensus, any majority, anywhere, any place, any time. And anyone who disagrees with this can pick a number, get in line and kiss my ass.” He muses over the quote while also positing that the rich and connected control the information narrative. The only logical response is to always question authority. Though as he starts to make this argument for himself, the comic devolves into an unillustrated, obsessive essay with “QUESTION AUTHORITY” highlighted in huge bold print, giving off an unhinged air.
Tales of Paranoia is an intense, powerful read created by one of comic’s most enduring talents. In fact, it is such a powerful window into the mind of Robert Crumb that in writing this I began to worry that my words might agitate Crumb further or contribute to his paranoia somehow. Geez, now I’m making myself paranoid…. | Jon Osia Scorfina
You can find Tales of Paranoia at your local comic shop or at the Fantagraphics website
