Peanuts: from comic strip to bookshelf

From 1950 until the millennium, Peanuts established itself as the longest running, and ultimately most popular, daily comic strip. Declared by The Comics Journal, a magazine more readily associated with underground art, as the second greatest comic of the century and even identified as "arguably the longest story ever told by one human being" by a Professor Thompson of Syracuse University, Charles M. Schulz's four panel meditations have produced several 20th century icons. Spawning television and theatre shows, innumerable ranges of merchandise and inspiring artists as diverse as Garrison Keillor and Matt Groening, Peanuts is one of the few comics that has straddled the divide between popular and geek culture.

Canongate's reprints of the entire run may help to clarify Peanuts's impact. By the time of Schulz's death, Charlie Brown and the gang had already passed into the establishment, possibly more famous as celebrities than as a vibrant commentary on modern life. In the light of The Simpsons or South Park the strip appears conservative, the battles of will between Snoopy or Lucy and Charlie an unending soap opera trapped in an ahistoric bubble. But, with a legion of celebrity guests penning respectful introductions, and modern comic superstar Seth designing the covers, Fantagraphics' collection sets Peanuts back into its context.

The most interesting years will, inevitably, be the 1960s. Here, Schulz engaged with political change - never explicitly, but subtly making racial integration and satire part of the strip. Charlie Brown - down, but never out - become a dogged everyman, while Lucy takes on her role as the guru of the school of hard knocks. In this decade, Schulz established his name and defined the characters that would define the circular and philosophical tone of the strip, and refined his technique - a deceptive simplicity that would inspire a generation of cartoonists.

Its later apparent irrelevance is the direct consequence of this influence. Calvin and Hobbs gave its children-as-adults morality a modern edge, Bart Simpson became the post-modern Charlie Brown, while everything from Dilbert to South Park has co-opted Schulz's minimal, clean lines. The characters have become so ubiquitous that it seems impossible for them to say anything worthwhile. Like Elvis, or Shakespeare, or Botticelli, their revered status has robbed them of relevance.

For this reason, the first edition of the collection, covering 1950 to 1952, is fascinating. Schulz was uncomfortable with his early work being republished, since he believed that he had not perfected his art. Characters that would later assume importance are marginal: Snoopy is still a puppy, and unidentifiable children slip in and out of the cast. The trademark stoicism is already there - alongside the back-handed compliments and innocent insults - but so is the whimsy and meandering observations that make the strip seem shallow or predictable. There is also the sentimentality that would later bedevil the TV specials, and the uncertainty that reflected the creator's own attitude. It actually showcases his strengths and weaknesses clearly - more than any technical failings, it is his writing that does not yet define his cast's personalities. The artwork, although evolving, is consistent and charming, the scripts as infuriating and enlightening as anything he did later.

The Complete Peanuts is beautifully bound, a comprehensive resource and, with an index and introduction, a useful contextualisation of a modern legend. For the casual reader, it is frustrating: a little homespun wisdom and a delusional dog fighter-pilot can go a long way, and two years worth is exhausting. What this collection will allow, however, is a re-evaluation of Schulz's work. This could go a long way to repair the damage done to his reputation by Snoopy lunch-boxes.