For someone known principally as a visual artist, Gorey always showed huge sensitivity to the English language (and by extension, to writing and writers). His odd little books are usually written at least as much as drawn.

In The Unstrung Harp, Gorey tells the tale of a Mr. Earbrass, who is trying to focus on writing a new novel. The captions to two back-to-back illustrations say:

Mr. Earbrass stands on the terrace at twilight. It is bleak; it is cold; and the virtue has gone out of everything. Words drift through his mind: anguish turnips conjunctions illness defeat string parties no parties urns desuetude disaffection claws loss Trebizond napkins shame stones distance fever Antipodes mush glaciers incoherence labels miasma amputation tides deceit mourning elsewards…

Before he knew what he was doing, Mr. Earbrass found he had every intention of spending a few weeks on the Continent. In a trance of efficiency, which could have surprised no one more than himself, he made the complicated and madding preparations for his departure [etc....].

I’d happily have composed any of those sentences myself!

You should be able to find a cheap copy of one of his anthologies (Amphigorey et al.) someplace. They make for discombobulating bathroom reading, especially when left in a bathroom used by guests during a party. The unknowing — those who never use the bathroom — may believe that the expressions on everyone’s faces say something about the food you’re serving. But you, of course, will know better.

Thanks for stopping by!