Reading In Between the Lines: Hans Rickheit’s ‘The Squirrel Machine’
The Squirrel Machine, by author and illustrator Hans Rickheit, is both a challenging and bizarre odyssey of human mortality that spans the lives of two brothers (Edmund and William Torpor) living in a 19th century New England town. Opening with a preface by Sir Henry W. Longsfellow, Rickheit’s tale is one of high minds and grotesque fantasy that is interwoven by his pockmarked linework and an exquisite attention to detail.
Bound in a hardcover, gold foil pressed format the story introduces us to Edmund and William as fledging inventors, uninhibited minds in their own right, stuck in a world that neither understands them or even cares to try. Using a combination of steampunk and taxidermy, the two boys make a startling discovery that revolves around the mystery of the titular “Squirrel Machine.” Aided in their adventure by a female pig hermit the boys manage to run afoul of the local community, succumb to lust-driven psychotropic reveries, commit second degree murder and (disturbingly enough) devour pustules off the flesh of dead animals. And this is all within the first half of the book!
Somewhere along the way, the brothers betray one another which results in a breakdown of the linear narrative, instead focusing on Rickheit’s metaphor-laden imagery to explain the insanity that unfolds leading up to the books indiscernible climax. Not unlike many of his other works, including Chrome Fetus and the recent webcomic Ectopiary, The Squirrel Machine possesses some arcane spell that is seductively sinful and altogether delightful with panels that look as though they could be engraved etchings for some lost passage in one of Noam Chomsky’s lurid personal journals. It’s never quite insulting in its abstractness to those with open-minds as the forward informs us, yet all the same remains largely impenetrable. I suppose that’s all part of its charm, that ever-illusive mystery of the unknown.
Having read through the book twice now I’m still unsure as to whether this lack of narrative coherency is intentional or if I’m simply unable to grasp the lofty, philosophical memes that Rickheit has implemented. Either way, the book carries enough artistic merit on the quality of its artwork alone to warrant a place on any illustrator’s top shelf, especially if you’re of the David Lynch or William Burroughs school of art.
Rondal Scott III is an illustrator and graphic designer who tackles each day with Red Bull-induced enthusiasm and is a self-professed Twitter addict. He’s illustrated several independent children’s books and in 2009 his obsession with horror movies and pop culture inspired him to establish the Strange Kids Club, a virtual clubhouse for geeky, pop culture nostalgia.
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