Like One of the Family
Charles Addams was born in 1912, a notable year for creative genius that also saw the arrivals of Jackson Pollock and Woody Guthrie, both of whom have been previously discussed. While these artists may have had little in common, they were undeniably part of an emerging, vibrant American cultural landscape. Charles Addams' distinctive cartoons, characterized by his uniquely sardonic and fatalistic shading, were a staple of publications such as The New Yorker, Collier's, and TV Guide. His work first appeared in The New Yorker Magazine in 1932, and by 1935, his signature style of macabre humor had begun to take shape.
Addams believed that a cartoon's effectiveness depended on its ability to convey meaning without the need for words. A prime example of which is that haunting vignette of gangsters exchanging gunfire with the police -or a rival gang, their Thompson submachine guns blazing from an upstairs window, as the housekeeper nonchalantly sweeps the spent shell casings into a dustpan. The absurdity of this scene, with its juxtaposition of mayhem and domesticity, serves as a masterclass in how to convey the darker aspects of human nature without underscoring the obvious with needless captioning.
As a child, the dentist's waiting room was made less fearful by the books of Charles Addams' cartoons. I would get lost in them, captivated by the eerie humor and whimsical world he created, intrigued by the curious style, and shadowy mystery of his drawing. My mother noticed my fascination and gifted me with a copy of Addams' book "Homebodies." I would reverently place the book on my reading table, prolonging the pleasure I took in the opening and unlocking of its secrets. For me, the book was a grimoire, a magical portal to a world of dark fantasy which, while I couldn't explain why, could not resist returning to again and again.
Mother disapproved of comic books. She encouraged me to read, instead, her The New Yorker magazines. Although most of the cartoon captions were over my head, it was possible to appreciate the humor of the cartoons of Charles Addams, which spoke to my juvenile curiosity about everything morbid. Addams' cartoons, I later realized, were designed to appeal to children, who, without a developed adult sense of humor, were forced to ask questions about the mysterious world he created. For Addams, the goal was to encourage children to confront their deepest fears and anxieties, and to seek their parents' guidance. As I grew older, I began to appreciate the subversive power of The New Yorker, overall. I was certain it was to be found in so many psychoanalysts' waiting rooms as a test of the ability to confront the unconscious mind, and to admit the urge to laugh at what was not meant to be funny.
As an adult, I have come to understand the power of irony, especially when it comes to the harsh realities of life, such as homelessness (my subject). The spectacle of people struggling to survive on the streets can be both fascinating and repulsive, and it's easy to look away. But Charles Addams' cartoons taught me to confront the uncomfortable, to look into the darkness, and to discern a twisted sort of beauty in the grotesque. For me, his cartoons were my way of inuring myself to the horrors of the world, and preparing myself for life's inevitable disappointments and tragedy. Even in somber moments, such as at a funeral, I find myself receptive to the silent, unspoken humor that lurks beneath the surface, a reminder that at such times the profoundest words are unspoken. In these moments I am comforted, confident that the dark, irreverent spirit of Charles Addams is with me.
The harsh reality is that humor is a product of civilization, not culture, and the homeless individual is often viewed as subhuman. We resent their non-participation in the societal game, as if their refusing to run the rat race was an arbitrary choice. Death, and the dead, are off-limits to humor, as they represent the stark repudiation of our will to live and prevail over adversity. Misfits and perceived outcasts are, however, fair game for ridicule, as they are seen as deviating from the norm. The young and able-bodied rationalize vagrancy as an unlucky deviation from the mean, rather than a matter of conscience. As we mature, we develop a sense of humor that allows us to smirk at the misfortune of others. In the case of the homeless, the humor is not about circumstances, but rather over their determination in the face of adversity. The humor of their ordeal can be seen as a manifestation of the social order of the survival of the fittest, where those who are most adaptable and resourceful prevail over those who are not.
Charles Addams was a masterful American wit, and his cartoons demonstrate a keen understanding of the childlike sensibility that lies within us all. Children are naturally curious and unencumbered by the conventions of adulthood. Charles Addams tapped this instinct to create humor that is both irreverent and relatable. His cartoons are often at their funniest when they don't show us what we expect to see, but rather what we're left to imagine. The reader is drawn into the scene, lingering and wondering, and perhaps even feeling a twinge of guilt for taking pleasure in the absurdity of it all. The childlike quality of Addams' humor is both refreshing and unsettling, and it's a testament to his skill that he can make us laugh at things that are, on the face of things, quite disturbing. In a way, Addams' cartoons are a commentary on the human desire to escape the responsibilities of adulthood and return to the carefree world of childhood, where the problems of the homeless can be viewed as an adventure.
Charles Addams is certainly one of the great humorists of our time, a master of the dark and daunting. He bequeaths a unique and enduring legacy, a testament to the boundless potential of the uninhibited imagination. His contribution continues to resonate with audiences. His cartoons appeared in The New Yorker until 1989, a year after his passing in 1988. Through his estate, he maintains a grip on his artistic vision, enforcing a strict policy against online reproductions of his cartoons. If you're interested in experiencing Addams' humor close-up and firsthand, I recommend seeking out one of his collections by searching bookstores, or through The New Yorker archives. For those who were fortunate enough to grow up with his work, his cartoons remain timeless and unchanging, like a well-loved and well-known member of the family.