Alec Nevala-Lee

Thoughts on art, creativity, and the writing life.

Learning from the masters: Charles Schulz

with 5 comments

The case of Charles M. Schulz is a peculiar one, because there are really two faces to Peanuts. There’s the strip itself, which remains one of the most original, arresting, and entertaining works of art of the twentieth century. And then there’s Peanuts the franchise, the source of Vince Guaraldi albums, television specials, and countless other forms of merchandise, some of which are worthwhile, but which also tend to overshadow the deeper qualities of the strip itself. (Hence the response to the well-meaning but somewhat confused Tumblr blog 3eanuts, which gives readers the impression that the original strips need to be altered to bring out their underlying bleakness.) Which is too bad, because Peanuts, at its best, is the greatest contemporary example of how a uniquely personal work of art can enter the dreamlife of millions.

And its impact has been incalculable. I recently picked up a copy of Todd Hignite’s seductive book In the Studio: Conversations with Contemporary Cartoonists, and if there’s a single underlying theme, stated or unstated, it’s the massive influence of Peanuts. For cartoonists like Seth and Chris Ware, not to mention Bill Watterson, Schulz is the artist who transformed the mainstream comic strip into a personal, even autobiographical form, at a time when there were nearly no precedents for such an achievement. Even now, it’s hard to think of another artist who managed to write a daily strip that was so funny and so bleak, so personal and so universal. Given the current splintering of the media landscape, we may never see anything like it ever again.

It’s difficult to understand this now, but during the peak years of the strip—which I’d place from roughly 1960 to 1974, although any attempt to define its golden years before 1980 or so is basically arbitrary—it was read avidly on college campuses by the same people who would go on to devour the likes of Jules Feiffer in the Village Voice. With its use of the jargon of psychoanalysis and philosophy, its depictions of depression and failure, and its relentlessly black humor, it felt like a comic strip for grownups, even as kids went nuts for it as well. And as David Michaelis points out in his invaluable Schulz and Peanuts, its adult fans, like Feiffer, reacted with deep suspicion to the commercialization of strip. How could America’s greatest poet of quiet desperation also be shilling for MetLife?

But the real point is that these two aspects of Schulz’s life shouldn’t be separated. Peanuts was both intensely personal and the biggest marketing phenomenon this side of Disney. It was used to sell cars, insurance, and Easter Egg kits even as the strip itself grew ever sadder and more pessimistic. In some ways, this still feels like the most subversive coup in the history of American popular culture. Not until The Simpsons—which, we’re told, owed much of its early popularity to “all the pretty colors”—was a work of art so ubiquitous and so misunderstood. And both cases speak to the universality of master craftsmanship. For Peanuts and The Simpsons alike, there’s no clear line dividing the popular from the sublime: it’s one seamless work of art.

As with The Simpsons, there’s no denying that Peanuts underwent a decline in its final years, and in particular was never the same after the mid-1980s. But to quibble over the fact that Schulz managed only thirty years of unparalleled excellence is like asking why Beethoven only managed to come up with nine decent symphonies. (Which sounds like something that Lucy might ask Schroeder). Strip by strip, panel by panel, it’s one of the richest bodies of work produced by any American artist, a lens through which the culture of half a century can be glimpsed. As such, it was an essential part of my education, and The Complete Peanuts will be among the first books that my own children will read. I can’t imagine giving them a greater gift.

5 Responses

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  1. I probably didn’t pay much attention to Peanuts until it was in its decline. There are still excellent cartoonists around whose work is a social commentary, though. Steve Bell is one, though his work on the Guardian newspaper is far more explicitly political. One local to me whose work is often more on psychological themes is John Stuart Clark, aka Brickbats – http://www.brickbats.co.uk/ComicCuts.html.

    Jon Vagg

    March 31, 2011 at 2:54 pm

  2. I’ve never seen Brickbats before, but it looks very intriguing. (Drew Hu, any comments on “China Crisis?”)

    http://www.brickbats.co.uk/ComicCuts2.html

    nevalalee

    March 31, 2011 at 11:00 pm

  3. A well-written and interesting article. I, for one, am not really bothered by all the Peanuts-merchandize per se, it doesn’t hurt the strip, although I do think it’s a bit sad that so many seem to regard the characters as multimedia-icons, unaware of the beauty of the strip.
    While I agree Peanuts’ golden years were the late 50s through early 70s, it underwent a kind of renaissance in the last 2-3 years, both the drawings, characterizations and dialogue became better than it had in at least 20 years.

    SnoSm

    May 31, 2013 at 1:48 pm

  4. That’s an interesting take—I hadn’t read the last years of the strip. I’ll need to check them out when Fangraphics finally releases them!

    nevalalee

    June 4, 2013 at 5:54 am

  5. The most hardcore peanuts strips I’ve found: https://sananab.ca/q?tag=peanuts_was_hardcore

    caiocaiocaiocaiocaio

    March 8, 2019 at 7:29 am


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