“My mission in life is to make everybody as uneasy as possible.  I think we should all be as uneasy as possible, because that’s what the world is like.”  E.G.

The day has arrived once more, dear reader – February 22, that faintly shuddering hinge in the calendar – on which we commemorate the birth of Edward St. John Gorey, who in 1925 emerged (one imagines) from some drafty New England parlor already wearing a fur coat and already regarding the world with that particular expression suggesting both polite interest and terminal disappointment.

It is customary, on such occasions, to offer felicitations, though in Gorey’s universe such gestures tend to be met with a sort of wan, sidelong glance, as though the recipient were quietly calculating the statistical likelihood of a chandelier collapsing or a large, ill-tempered creature appearing at the door.  Nevertheless, one persists.

For Gorey – illustrator, writer, designer, and unrepentant purveyor of gothic whimsy – constructed an oeuvre in which calamity was not so much an interruption as a houseguest.  His pen-and-ink lines, so fine as to resemble the hairs of an anxious moth, arranged themselves into parlors, staircases, and desolate moors where children expired with alarming regularity, adults behaved with inscrutable malaise, and creatures of uncertain taxonomy lurked with impeccable manners.

The Peculiar Legacy of a Man Who Made Tragedy Charming

• The Gashlycrumb Tinies, that alphabet of diminutive doom, remains a sort of primer for the aesthetically morbid.
• The Doubtful Guest, who overstays its welcome by several decades, is perhaps the most accurate portrait of the human condition ever committed to paper.
• The Loathsome Couple, with its unnervingly calm depiction of monstrous behavior, demonstrates Gorey’s talent for presenting horror with the emotional temperature of a tepid cup of tea.

To celebrate Gorey is to celebrate the art of the omission.  In his world – a world of heavy urns, sprawling Edwardian manors, and questionable footwear – the most terrifying things are the ones left unsaid, or rather, the ones left just outside the frame of the pen-and-ink border.

• The Victorian Aesthetic: He rendered the nineteenth century not as it was, but as it should have been: populated by melancholy bearded men in floor-length fur coats and children who meet their demise with an almost admirable lack of protest.
• The Deadpan Disposition: There is a certain psychopathic indifference to his work that we, the gloom-inclined, find deeply comforting.  When little Amy tumbles down the stairs, there is no weeping; there is only the impeccable line-work of the banister.
• The Theatricality: Beyond the page, his Tony-winning designs for Dracula and the wobbling, fainting silhouettes of PBS’s Mystery! Introduction remind us that the gothic is not just a style, but a choreography.

Let us reflect on the essential Gorey-esque truths that govern our blog today:

• Objects are often more reliable than people.  Especially if the stone is an inexplicable stone or an iron figuring.
• The weather is perpetually ominous.  If the sun is shining, it is merely doing so to highlight the precariousness of a nearby cliffside.
• Adverbs are to be used with surgical precision.  One does not simply walk; one wanders distractedly, or gazes reproachfully.

His work is not cruel; it is indifferent, which is far more unsettling.  The universe, in Gorey’s hands, is a place where dreadful things happen with the same inevitability as dust accumulating on a velvet curtain.  The effect is both chilling and oddly comforting, like discovering that the abyss has impeccable posture.

How to Gorey-fy Your Life (or Determine If You’re Already a Character in a Gorey Book)
Living in an Edward Gorey story is marked by a pervasive, whimsical macabre aesthetic, featuring Edwardian/Victorian fashion (furs, boots), inexplicable gloomy weather, and a sense of “wistful murder mysteries” or quiet, absurd, and often fatalistic happenings.  Expect to encounter strange creatures, sudden, matter-of-fact misfortunes, and a generally eerie, black-and-white, highly detailed world.

Key Signs You Are in a Gorey Narrative:

• The Setting is Uncannily Dreary: You live in a drafty Victorian house, a foggy, desolate seaside town, or a room furnished only with a single, bizarre object.
• Fashion is Strict and Somber: You wear long fur coats, dark tailored clothing, high collars, and perhaps small gold hoop earrings regardless of the weather or activity.
• Inexplicable Guests: A strange, silent creature or a “doubtful guest” has arrived and refuses to leave, occupying a corner or disrupting daily routines.
• A “Goreyesque” Atmosphere: Everyday, mundane activities are overshadowed by a dark, surreal, and quiet dread.
• Unusual Cat Behavior: Cats are omnipresent, sometimes acting as, or resembling, cryptic observers in your daily life.
• Accidents are Prevalent: Family members or neighbors constantly, yet calmly, succumb to absurd, tragic, or mysterious mishaps.
• Detailed, Monochromatic Existence: The world feels like a cross-hatched, ink-drawn illustration where even the most dire evens are depicted with meticulous, artistic precision.
• Unsettling Humor: You find yourself laughing at things that are undeniably creepy, absurd, or morbid.

If you feel you like is a mix of a quiet, elegant nightmare and a, frankly, somewhat confusing game of Clue, you are likely inhabiting an Edward Gorey world.

So on this day, we raise a glass – preferably something faintly dusty, in a room where the wallpaper seems to be watching – to Edward Gorey, who taught us that morbidity need not be grotesque, that elegance can coexist with calamity, and that the world is far more bearable when one accepts that doom, like a persistent houseguest, will eventually sit down and ask for tea.

N.P.: “The Passenger” – Emily Autumn