Teratoid Heights realistically depicts the lifecycles of various species found in the tide location's cave-riddled terrain, down to the most painstakingly detailed behavioral patterns. It matters not that both Teratoid Heights and its inhabitants are entirely fictional. Brinkman taps into the zeitgeist of modern suburban America with what seems to be a mixture of J.R.R. Tolkein-style adventure, video-game inspired syncopation and an endless barrage of cable-television nature films all filtered through the reddened eyes of a marijuana-addled teenager. A book that reveals levels of humor and humanity no matter what age the reader.
Teratoid Heights isn't just a comic, it's a whole world. It's a land that's strange, yet somehow familiar, inhabited by a host of creatures that look totally alien, but often behave in ways that are surprisingly human. This book transports its readers to this mystical place, and then it basically just leaves them there to look around.
The book consists of a series of short comics, each of which shows inhabitants of Teratoid Heights going about their daily lives. There's no explanation, no real story, and almost* no text. I can't really explain why, but it's simply sublime. Even though there's a fair amount of violence, I find the reading experience calm and relaxing – almost meditative – something like going for a solitary stroll, or watching a nature documentary with the sound off. The whole thing, of course, owes a lot to Brinkman's art, which is fairly simple, but is drawn with great care, and is very evocative in terms of mood, landscape, lighting and texture. But this definitely isn’t just a collection of nice art, it’s an utterly engrossing reading experience, one unlike any I've had before.
*Out of more than 200 pages, only 14 feature dialogue, and they're all in the last chapter. This final chapter feels a bit different from the rest, its strips tending to be shorter and more humour-focused, and featuring markedly cruder art. This is probably the book's weakest content, but it's still very enjoyable, and in any case it only constitutes a small part of the work.
Kilkanaście historii z pozornie prymitywną kreską, trochę w klimacie Johnn’ego Ryana, choć nie zdziwiłbym się, gdyby autor był inspiracją choćby dla Łukasza Kowalczuka. To ten typ narracji, który bardziej się czuje niż rozumie. Wypływające z siebie miniatury o prastworach wydają się uniwersalnymi opowieściami o przemocy, rozwoju, przeznaczeniu, ewolucji, momentach wzniosłości i upadku, ale również boskiej ingerencji i próbach ujarzmiania natury. Są pierwotne rytuały w postaci grzebania zmarłych i sporo wieloznaczności, które każdy czytelnik musi przetrawić we własnym zakresie. To swoista mitologia, zawierająca kilka punktów wspólnych z narracjami Jima Woodringa czy niemymi komiksami Dave’a Coopera, choć dokonania Brinkmana mają zdecydowanie surowszy charakter.
Nie bez powodu autora uznaje się jednego z najważniejszych undergroundowych artystów ostatnich dekad
Takmer bezslovný komiks o pekných, niekedy desivejších kreatúrkach, o ich existencii v jaskyni, každodenných úkonoch. Parádne nakreslené, niekedy trochu brutálne. Niekedy som na to pozerala s myšlienkou "okej, čo boha sa deje" a musela sa vrátiť. 4/5
A mostly silent comic. When it's not silent it's very abstract and not very related to the story. Felt a bit like a pale version of Jim Woodring's acclaimed Frank. A nice read of a fantasy world inhabited by bizarre creatures. It's ok, but if you can put your hands on any Frank book, I'd recommend doing that over reading Teratoid Heights
Someone posted about Mat Brinkman and that Hollow Press was publishing museum editions of two of his comics. I'm a sucker for limited edition, praised art that I've never heard of and bought both. TERATOID HEIGHTS is a mostly silent collection of weird sequential drawings of creatures going about existence, which is sometimes mundane and other times brutal. It's darkly rendered in large swaths of black ink that looks carved out from the paper, like Michelangelo was said to have freed the slaves he sculpted from the raw blocks of marble. I've been having come-to-Jesus moments a lot, most recently seeing Dynasty Handbag perform, and now reading Brinkman, whose creativity and originality is evident of every page. Maybe I'm old and my synapses are deteriorating, which I'm misreading as, "Wow!" when it's really, "I'm having a stroke, call the doctor!" But does that matter? The bio says that Brinkman might be the most influential cartoonist of the last two decades and while those text are usually built on hyperbole in this case I agree.
Some faceless primordial entities go about their day doing some rather weird but somewhat relatable things. I would hesitate to call Teratoid Heights a slice-of-life story, but there is a lot of things that just happen because it's part of daily life if you're an absurd mishapen being. There isn't any explanations offered, nor is one even needed. It's just simple musing, and there is something quite refreshing about it.
Brinkman brings a very unique and simple style to the book. The shapes are jagged, uneven and harsh, but it still feels understated. The lack of colors and heavy linework create a nice contrast on each page. It's brutalist artwork and wholly unique. I really felt engaged by each page and that's the mark of a strong comic.
7.4 Ciągnie mnie do dziwnych światów, których zasady oraz mieszkańców poznajemy stopniowo, lub wcale. Gdzie zostajemy wrzuceni w nieznane, bez żadnych wytłumaczeń, kontekstu, a obserwowane przez nas zachowania są obce, ale ludzkie jednocześnie. Rozumiemy je bez słów. To jest właśnie to, czym charakteryzuje się "Teratoid Heights". I trudno mi tego nie lubić.
It's not a book to read, exactly. It's more like following along with the hieroglyphs of a long-dead language that's even more inscrutable than pre-Rosetta Ancient Egyptian. Brilliant, though. And not quite like anything else you've ever found buried in a dank cave on a distant planet.