I have periodically posted illustrations that kindle in me a genuine nostalgia, for both my own childhood, as well as for the decades before I was born. This illustration by Edward Gorey for John Bellairs’ The House with a Clock in Its Walls is perhaps the Gorey contribution that most haunts my recollections of the thrilling Bellairs library. I think of it often, driving alone late at night.

“Around sharp curves they went, lurching dangerously far over and sqealing the tires. Up hills, down hills, then seventy or eighty miles an hour on the straightaway, which was never straight for long on those winding country roads. Lewis had never seen Jonathan drive so fast, or so recklessly. But no matter how fast he drove, the two cold circles of light still burned in his rear-view mirror.”