A Naming Ode to Edward Gorey

Edward Gorey is known as many things—writer, illustrator, designer, enigma—but not as a namer. Nonetheless, it came with his creative territory, which is vast, playful, and unsettling in a good way.

Gorey’s imagination opened new literary realms similar to one of his influences, Lewis Carroll, or like another prolific writer with magical naming powers, Tove Jansson.

Any Gorey fan, this namer included, delights in the imaginative and memorable names in his literary works. Invented character names, place names, words for objects, and expressions—all infused with a singular Gorey-ness—punctuated this year, in celebration of 100 years since his birth.

Who is Edward Gorey?

I’m not sure anyone can fully answer that question with certainty. Although, a few have taken a stab at it. I think the closest and most accurate is Edward’s Biography, as told by The Edward Gorey House.

Wikipedia introduces him with this succinct snippet:

Edward St. John Gorey (February 22, 1925 – April 15, 2000) was an American writer, Tony Award-winning costume designer, and artist, noted for his own illustrated books as well as cover art and illustration for books by other writers. His characteristic pen-and-ink drawings often depict vaguely unsettling narrative scenes in Victorian and Edwardian settings.

In my opinion, here’s the best Gorey-glimpse, by PBS MASTERPIECE: 12 Surprising Facts about Edward Gorey, including insights from Gregory Hischak, curator of The Edward Gorey House.

One: Gorey was a Precociously Gifted Child

Edward Gorey grew up in Chicago (not England) and started drawing at the age of 18 months. “Edward drew wonderful drawings quite early,” says Hischak. “We have his sausage train—little sausages linked together with wheels.” And it’s said Gorey taught himself to read by three-and-a-half. He gobbled up Alice in Wonderland and Dracula by the time he turned five, and Frankenstein at age seven. A year later, he was devouring Victor Hugo and Agatha Christie. Gorey skipped two years of elementary school, then started ninth grade at the Francis W. Parker School in Chicago where he was encouraged to exhibit his artwork.

Two: He had Little Formal Art Training 

Gorey got most of his art instruction from his four years at Francis Parker School. “It was almost a trade school art education,” says Hischak. “He had a very good teacher there; one who also sent notes back to Edward’s mom saying he wasn’t working up to his capacity in art.” After high school, Gorey also managed to squeak in a single semester at the Art Institute of Chicago before being drafted at 18 for WWII.

Three: He Majored in French Literature at Harvard

Gorey ultimately attended Harvard University on the G.I. bill, majoring in French Literature but also exhibiting artwork, publishing stories, and designing sets. Why French Lit? “He pompously said he’d read everything else in English,” says Hischak, “but it may have been close to the truth.” After graduation in 1950, Gorey got work in New York City illustrating a line of classic titles published in paperback for Doubleday’s Anchor Books, including TS Eliot’s Mr. Possum’s Book of Practical Cats and HG Wells’ The War of the Worlds.

Four: His Fashion Sense was Unorthodox 

Gorey’s personal style showed a singular spirit. He clad his six-foot, two-inch tall frame in full-length fur coats, ripped jeans, low-top white sneakers, plenty of jewelry, and eventually a bushy Edwardian beard. “He looks like those photos of Oscar Wilde wearing that glorious fur coat. He seems to have taken that as his style guide,” says Hischak. He favored big, thick rings for his fingers, which “weren’t rings at all, but weights and measures from the sub-Sahara that he bought someplace in New York,” adds Hischak.

Five: Gorey’s Books Are Hard to Classify 

Gorey created scores of meticulous little books; books publishers didn’t know what to make of. “He said most were meant for children, whether that’s wildly inappropriate or not,” says Hischak. Set in a vaguely Victorian period filled with doomed characters, these short works are surreal yet playful—with pen and ink etchings and the briefest of hand-lettered text. His books ran the gamut from the inexplicable The Doubtful Guest (1957) to the macabre alphabet book Gashlycrumb Tinies (1963) and didn’t exactly fly off the shelves. Gorey only began to see real earnings from these titles when they were resurrected as omnibus editions (Amphigoreys) by a new, marketing-savvy publisher.

Six: George Balanchine was his Muse

While living in New York City, Gorey habitually attended performances of the ballet. Five months out of the year—for nearly 30 years—he rarely missed productions showcasing the choreography of George Balanchine, whom he called “the greatest living genius in the arts.” Yet Gorey never so much as spoke to Balanchine. “They probably spied each other [at Lincoln Center] on an almost daily basis, but there was no collaboration of any kind between them,” says Hischak.

Seven: He Could be High & Low Brow

A cultural omnivore, Gorey’s range of interests astounds. He was a movie addict who indulged in art-movie houses and screening clubs where he fell in love with Louis Feuillade’s gothic-styled silent films. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of 19th century Japanese cinema. He read voraciously and packed his home with over 25,000 books. But he also collected items ranging from cheese graters to doorknobs and could hold forth on topics from soap operas to the Golden Girls TV series. “He was all over the map, which is where he wanted to be,” says Hischak.

Eight: He Won a Tony Award

Edward Gorey’s real star turn came with his contributions to 1977’s smash-hit Broadway revival of Dracula. The production starred Frank Langella as the Count, with Gorey designing everything from the sets to playbills and costumes. It was Gorey’s first foray into Broadway theater, and he won the 1978 Tony for Costume Design—though sent a friend to pick up the award as he was at the ballet. Gorey didn’t ultimately like the sets. “He felt his work looked garish when blown up that big,” says Hischak. “But he’s about the only one who didn’t [like them]. I’ve heard when the curtain went up, people burst into applause. The set got an ovation!”

Nine: He Loved Cats Best

The supreme love of Gorey’s life he wrote were his cats. “He had cats early on and at age 8, was putting together little books with them doing dances,” says Hischak. “Many generations of the same cat family followed him all the way to NY.” Gorey forgave his cats—up to six at a time—for destroying furniture and jumping on his drawing table, sometimes ruining his work. In fact, he was a lifelong animal lover whose estate proceeds now fund the welfare of creatures from bats to invertebrates, and whales to, of course, cats.

Ten: He Inspired Lemony Snicket, Neil Gaiman & More

Other macabre-leaning creatives openly admire Edward Gorey. Filmmaker Guillermo Del Toro and authors Maurice Sendak, Neil Gaiman, and Daniel Handler (a.k.a. Lemony Snicket) have all been forthcoming about his influence on their work. Tim Burton, not so much, though Hischak says “it’s pretty darn obvious.”

Eleven: Edward Gorey May Get a Stamp

Devotees have been working for years to have a stamp recognize Gorey on his 100th birthday in 2025. “We had a vigorous letter-writing campaign [to the US Postal Service] and we have Edward on the ballot for consideration” says Hischak. “I hope they have it in the back of their minds that it would be one of their best-selling stamps ever.”

Twelve: His Mission was to Make Us Uneasy

Gorey’s sinister universe is populated by ghoulish beasts, unsettling situations, and victims—often hapless children. He offered no explanation about the meaning of his work other than saying, “My mission in life is to make everybody as uneasy as possible … because that’s what the world is like.” His works “are about borders and boundaries,” says Hischak. “All the characters are coming right up against the boundary of death, of this world meeting the next world. Everyone’s teetering at that. And so that’s where he likes his work to live.”

Names Created by Edward Gorey

In keeping with the spirit of the 12 facts about Gorey above, here are 12 lines of Gorey’s prose, featuring an invented name of some kind. Enjoy them just as they appear, without larger narrative context.

One: Dr. Belgravius and his nephew, Luke Touchpaper, drove up as the body was being taken indoors. (The Other Statue, 1968)

Two: Caviglia cruised the Adriatic with Basil Zaribaydjian, the financier, on his yacht, the Maud. (Der Traurige Zwölfünder / The Blue Aspic, 1968)

Three: After it had passed, Lord Wherewithal was found crushed beneath a statue blown down from the parapet. (The Other Statue, 1968)

Four: At the buffet Miss Quartermourning lost a slice of cucumber from her sandwich. (The Other Statue, 1968)

Five: Augustus woke up to find his stuffed twisby was missing. (The Other Statue, 1968)

Six: After luncheon Miss Underfold, the governess, waited until the Earl of Thump and Lady Emily Lisping were taking their naps before slipping away from the nursery.

Seven: Unexpected appearance of the Uluus (thought to have been extinct for over a century) in the tunnel connecting East Shoetree and West Radish, St. Frumble’s Day, 1892. (The Tunnel Calamity, 1984)

Eight: Figbash scattered cracker crumbs on Hooglyboo / If this makes you uncomfortable, turn to 3. If it doesn’t, turn to 8. (The Raging Tide: Or, The Black Doll’s Imbroglio, 1987)

Nine: A clergyman staying at the Upturned Pig, the Rev. O. MacAbloo, wandered in a remote corner of the shrubbery. (The Other Statue, 1968)

Ten: Sing tirraloo, sing tirralay, / The Wuggly Ump lives far away. (The Wuggly Ump)

Eleven: He was recognized at once by Lady Isobel Stringless, Lord Wherewithal’s aunt, although they had last met seventeen years before on St. Clot in the Maladroit Islands. (The Other Statue, 1968)

Twelve: A gypsy selling Orphobismic Lozenges was told to remove himself by Fenks, the butler, as the first guests neared the gates. (The Other Statue, 1968)

Parting Thoughts

PBS MASTERPIECE wrote that Gorey was a cultural omnivore. We at Zinzin also find inspiration in people, places, and things both far and wide. In fact, art and literature are often at the heart of our creative wanderings.

Creative thought and inspiration behind great artists like Edward Gorey is like nourishment for our naming souls. His names evoke a sense of time, place, and plot. It’s as if each one tells a mini story within the bigger story. This is what the best evocative names can do for companies and products too.

Without a doubt, I think Gorey is one of the great namers of our time. But I’m sure he’d come up with a better name than namer—Lord of Nomenclature Manor? Sir Wordsworth of Namington?