As Halloween doth approach e’er closer, I felt it fitting to doff a silken top hat to the great genius of art and literature, Edward Gorey.
A true eccentric, Gorey, who wrote luxurious macabre prose augmented by pale, spindly creatures often meeting their untimely demise, wore fur coats and sneakers, oft with moustache and beard, and an extravagant scarf. People either stared, or looked the other way.
Their loss. Brilliance often goes unappreciated until it’s too late. Without him, we’d probably not be blessed with the likes of Tim Burton, The Horrors, Noel Fielding or Alice Lowe. Edward Gorey, I salute ye.
Hit The North 