It is not in praise of the Creator that R. Crumb portrays him — in the splash page that begins his much-anticipated adaptation of Genesis in comic-book form — as Crumb sees his own father. He grew up in helpless terror of Charles Crumb Sr., a former Marine Corps master sergeant who lorded over his family with icy severity. Early in his progress on “The Book of Genesis,” Crumb was asked by Robert Hughes of Time magazine if he was drawing God to look like Mr. Natural (the burlesque cartoon shaman whom he has long employed to poke fun at pop spirituality). Crumb replied: “He has a white beard, but he actually ended up looking more like my father. He has a very masculine face.” Both paternity and masculinity are matters of dubious value to Crumb, a wonderfully unlikely candidate to breathe new life into the founding narrative of masculine privilege and paternal authority in the Judeo-Christian world.

Crumb’s God appears, alongside the opening words of Genesis, spinning substance from a void that resembles a cosmic basketball in his enormous, hairy, veiny hands. He is a profoundly — almost grotesquely — human-looking deity, very much the sort of being in whose image vulgar humankind could realistically come forth. His nose has the elongation of age (and an implied proto-Jewishness), and it is dotted with deep pores. His brow is furrowed in a permanent scowl, unchanged throughout the book. (In one of the chapters about Noah, Crumb has God scowling even as he pets a goat.) He wears a long white robe and, over it, a longer white robe of billowing, gentle tresses that flow from his scalp and his face to what would presumably be his feet. However much Crumb may think of his God as a retired ex-Marine, this man-God, in his haggard grandeur, brings to mind the work of two other artists relevant both to Genesis and to Crumb: the self-portrait sketches of Leonardo, who also depicted the Creation; and the early illustrations of St. Nicholas, the God-man of the modern era, as he was conceived by the 19th-century cartoonist Thomas Nast, whose hatch-work drawing style and piercing insolence have been major influences on Crumb.

Working almost exclusively on this mammoth project for five years, Crumb has rendered the entirety of Genesis in comics panels. “The first book of the Bible graphically depicted! Nothing left out!” brags a banner on the cover. This is scarcely the first time the Bible has been adapted to comics pages, of course. In the first decade of the comic-book business, the man who claimed to have invented the medium, M. C. Gaines, founded a whole company on a line of “Picture Stories From the Bible.” (When he died suddenly, his young son, William M. Gaines, inherited the company, and in a 20th-century case study in the enduring vagaries of primogeniture, the son discontinued the Bible strips and started publishing lurid, spicy crime and horror comics.) The Catholic Church, which once opposed comics vigorously and, for a time in the 1940s, sponsored public burnings of comics at parochial schools, recognized the form’s appeal to young people and took to publishing its own comics adapted mostly from the New Testament. For the most part, the idea of Bible comics was to simplify and clean up the text for children, reducing the cryptic, sometimes dark poetry of the Scripture to juvenilia.

Image Credit... From “The Book of Genesis”

Crumb’s is a Genesis for adults — indeed, for adults only, as one might and should expect from an artist whose importance is rooted in his ability to give vivid form to taboos of the imagination with unapologetic bluntness and extravagant explicitness. The prospect of Crumb’s doing the Bible might seem at first a stunt, an all-too-obvious mash-up of the most sacred and the most profane. When I heard about it, I thought immediately of Norman Mailer’s “Gospel According to the Son,” a fictive memoir by Jesus — and an agent’s pitch passing for a novel. Crumb’s book is serious and, for Crumb, restrained. He resists the temptation to go all-out Crumb on us and exaggerate the sordidness, the primitivism and the outright strangeness (by contemporary standards) of parts of the text. What is Genesis about, after all, but resisting temptation?