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When Edward Gorey Illustrated Dracula: Two Masters of the Macabre, Together

“No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.”

As if knowing that the great Edward Gorey illustrated a small stable of little-known and wonderful paperback covers for literary classics weren’t enough of a treat, how thrilling it is to know that he also illustrated the occasional entire volume, from classic fairy tales to H. G. Wells’s War of the Worlds to T. S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. But out of all his literary reimaginings, by far the greatest fit for Gorey’s singular brand of darkly delightful visual magic is Edward Gorey’s Dracula (public library), a special edition of the Bram Stoker classic originally published in 1977 and eventually adapted as a magnificent toy theater of die-cut foldups and foldouts. Gorey’s illustrations of the characters are terrifyingly charming and charmingly terrific:

Mina Murray
Jonathan Harker
Lucy Westenra
Dr. John Seward
R. M. Renfield
Dr. Abraham Van Helsing
Count Dracula

The gorgeously Gorey endpapers are particularly marvelous:

The book also includes some pages from Bram Stoker’s original Dracula manuscript:

Manuscript notes and outlines, p. 35 verso b. (Courtesy of the Rosenbach Museum & Library, Philadelphia)
Manuscript notes and outlines, p. 2 (Courtesy of the Rosenbach Museum & Library, Philadelphia)

But the greatest Gorey-goodie of all is the toy theater set:

Complement Edward Gorey’s Dracula with a look back at this gallery of the beloved illustrator’s other literary masterpieces.


Edward Gorey’s Vintage Book Covers for Literary Classics

Melville, Conrad, Colette, Chekhov, Chaucer, Gogol, Kafka, Shaw, Pushkin, and more.

The great Edward Gorey, mid-century master of the macabre and darkly delightful, was a prolific illustrator of his own irreverent books like The Gashlycrumb Tinies, The Curious Sofa: A Pornographic Work by Ogdred Weary , The Shrinking of Treehorn, among countless others, and would occasionally illustrate existing literature, like classic fairy tales, H. G. Wells’s War of the Worlds, and T. S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. But Gorey, unbeknownst to many, also designed dozens of book covers, including a number for some of literary history’s greatest classics during the paperback revolution, primarily while working at the Doubleday art department between 1953 and 1960. Here are his finest such masterpieces:

‘Lafcadio’s Adventures’ by André Gide (Doubleday, 1953)
‘The Black Girl in Search of God’ by Bernard Shaw (Capricorn, 1959)
‘Redburn: His First Voyage’ by Herman Melville (Doubleday, 1957)
‘My Mother’s House and the Vagabond’ by Colette (Doubleday, 1955)
‘Come Back, Dr. Caligari’ by Donald Barthelme (Doubleday, 1964)
‘Picture of Millie’ by P. M. Hubbard (London House & Maxwell, 1964)
‘Pleasures and Days and Other Writings’ by Marcel Proust (Doubleday, 1957)
‘The Secret Agent’ by Joseph Conrad (Doubleday, 1953)
‘Victory’ by Joseph Conrad (Doubleday, 1957)
‘Chance’ by Joseph Conrad (Doubleday, 1957)
‘War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells (Doubleday, 1960)
‘St. Peter’s Day and Other Tales’ by Anton Chekhov (Doubleday, 1959)
‘Troilus & Criseyde’ by Geoffrey Chaucer (Vintage, 1966)
‘Tales of Good and Evil’ by Nikolai Gogol (Doubleday, 1957)
‘Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard’ translated by Lee M. Hollander (Doubleday, 1960)
‘Lady Barberina and Other Tales’ by Henry James (Grosset & Dunlap, 1961)
‘The Ambassadors’ by Henry James (Doubleday, 1958)
‘The Awkward Age’ by Henry James (Doubleday, 1958)
‘What Maisie Knew’ by Henry James (Doubleday, 1954)
‘Amerika’ by Franz Kafka (Doubleday, 1955)
‘The Masters’ by C. P. Snow (Doubleday, 1959)
‘The Captain’s Daughter and Other Stories’ by Alexander Pushkin (Vintage, 1957)
‘The Romance of Tristan and Iseult,’ as retold by Joseph Bédier (Doubleday, 1953)
‘The Web and the Rock’ by Thomas Wolfe (Grosset & Dunlap, 1939)
‘Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats’ by T. S. Eliot (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1982)

Find more Gorey gold in the Brain Pickings archive — including some rare, limited-edition vintage gems — and swing by my Pinterest collection of Gorey art.

Metafilter; portrait of Gorey via Vol. 1 Brooklyn


T. S. Eliot’s Iconic Vintage Verses About Cats, Illustrated and Signed by Edward Gorey

Two grand masters of delight, together.

Until the wonderful Lost Cat: A True Story of Love, Desperation, and GPS Technology came out, the great Edward Gorey had the corner on feline art with his timeless illustrations for the 1982 edition of Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats (public library) by T. S. Eliot, a documented cat-lover, who penned these whimsical verses about feline psychology and social order in a series of letters to his godchildren in the 1930s. The poems were first collected and published in 1939, adding Eliot to the ranks of other famous “adult” authors who wrote for children, and eventually became the basis for the famed Broadway musical Cats.

Some time ago, I had the good fortune of tracking down an original edition of this tiny treasure, signed by Gorey himself — please enjoy:


The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey —
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter —
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum —
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover —
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.


Jellicle Cats come out to-night
Jellicle Cats come one come all:
The Jellicle Moon is shining bright –
Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.

Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats are rather small;
Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,
And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.
Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces,
Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes;
They like to practise their airs and graces
And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise.

Jellicle Cats develop slowly,
Jellicle Cats are not too big;
Jellicle Cats are roly-poly,
They know how to dance a gavotte and a jig.
Until the Jellicle Moon appears
They make their toilette and take their repose:
Jellicle Cats wash behind their ears,
Jellicle dry between their toes.

Jellicle Cats are white and black,
Jellicle Cats are of moderate size;
Jellicle Cats jump like a jumping-jack,
Jellicle Cats have moonlit eyes.
They’re quitet enough in the morning hours,
They’re quitet enough in the afternoon,
Reserving their terpsichorean powers
To dance by the light of the Jellicle Moon.

Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats (as I said) are small;
If it happends to be a stormy night
They will practise a caper or two in the hall.
If it happens the sun is shining bright
You would say they had nothing to do at all:
They are resting and saving themselves to be right
For the Jellicle Moon and the Jellicle Ball.


Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones —
In fact, he’s remarkably fat.
He doesn’t haunt pubs — he has eight or nine clubs,
For he’s the St. James’s Street Cat!
He’s the Cat we all greet as he walks down the street
In his coat of fastidious black:
No commonplace mousers have such well-cut trousers
Or such an impeccable back.
In the whole of St. James’s the smartest of names is
The name of this Brummell of Cats;
And we’re all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to
By Bustopher Jones in white spats!
His visits are occasional to the Senior Educational
and it is against the rules
For any one cat to belong both to that
And the Joint Superior Schools.
For a similar reason, when game is in season
He is found, not at Fox’s, but Blimp’s;
But he’s frequently seen at the gay Stage and Screen
Which is famous for winkles and shrimps.
In the season of venison he gives his ben’son
To the Pothunter’s succulent bones;
And just before noon’s not a moment too soon
To drop in for a drink at the Drones.
When he’s seen in a hurry there’s probably curry
At the Siamese — or at the Glutton;
If he looks full of gloom then he’s lunched at the Tomb
On cabbage, rice pudding and mutton.
So, much in this way, passes Bustopher’s day —
At one club or another he’s found.
It can cause no surprise that under our eyes
He has grown unmistakably round.
He’s a twenty-five pounder, or I am a bounder,
And he’s putting on weight every day:
But he’s so well preserved because he’s observed
All his life a routine, so he’ll say.
And (to put it in rhyme) `I shall last out my time’
Is the word of this stoutest of Cats.
It must and it shall be Spring in Pall Mall
While Bustopher Jones wears white spats!

Complement Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats with Lost Cat and Gay Talese on the social order of New York’s cats, and consider supporting Gorey’s legacy with a donation to the Edward Gorey Charitable Trust.


The Green Beads: Edward Gorey and the “Disturbed Person”

“How it knocks my heart!”

Mid-century illustrator extraordinaire Edward Gorey has a wealth of gems under his belt — his legendary grim alphabet, exquisite letters, illustrations for H. G. Wells’s The War of the Worlds, fairy tale adaptations, naughty adult entertainment, and then some. But hardly do any of Gorey’s magnificent stories get more tender, heartening, and heartbreaking than The Green Beads (public library). Originally published in 1978 as a limited edition of 426 signed copies — 400 numbered copies for sale and 26 lettered A-Z reserved for Gorey’s inner circle — it tells the story of Little Tancred who, en route to the store to buy tapioca, meets “a disturbed person whose sex is unclear, wearing a string of green beads around “its” neck. A characteristically grim adventure involving the beads ensues.

But what makes the book particularly poignant is that it’s hard not to see a piece of Gorey himself — old, eccentric, a defiant spirit and sensitive soul, an oft-speculated gay man — in the Disturbed Person, whom only Little Tancred truly sees and who inhabits that elusive neverland between the real and the imagined.

I was fortunate enough to hunt down one of the surviving copies — number 136, to be precise — and have preserved it here for shared enjoyment:

Complement The Green Beads with the charming The Shrinking of Treehorn and consider supporting the Edward Gorey Charitable Trust with a donation to the Edward Gorey House.


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