A message boarder wag discussing the Decemberists recently proposed the genre of "Snicket Rock" to define that winsomely literary Bermuda Triangle defined by Wes Anderson, McSweeney's and They Might Be Giants. The genre now receives what must be one of its definitive texts with The Tragic Treasury, comprising the 13 songs (plus two bonus tracks) Magnetic Fields leader Stephin Merritt composed for the audiobook versions of the Unfortunate Events tridecology.

It's only appropriate that Merritt should wind up here: After all, 69 Love Songs inadvertently inaugurated the era of high-concept indie pop. Back in 1999, releasing a 3xCD thematic boxset seemed a smartly audacious way for a relative unknown to grab a few headlines. But these days barely a week passes without some aspiring auteur announcing plans for a 27-album project charting the history of Quebecois separatism, a tricksy song-suite inspired by the novellas of Gérard de Nerval, or a cute new troupe of indie Morris Dancers who live together in a commune on the Isle of Man.

What's surprising is that The Tragic Treasury turns out to be the most consistently enjoyable record Merritt has released this century. Maybe it's a side effect of signing to Nonesuch, but, since 69LS, Merritt has become oddly, worthily wholesome: the proudly hand-played, low-key i, the Lincoln Center adaptations of Chinese operas, the appearance alongside Laurie Anderson and Brian Eno on a biblical art project-- at times, he seemed determined to become a one-man PBS. Happily, The Treasury marks the return of the Merritt many of us first fell for: The misanthropic wraith of the old Algonquin who liked "experimental music and bubblegum and nothing in between" and wrote songs with titles like "The Abandoned Castle of My Soul".

Emily Dickinson (who, I believe, sang back-up for the Archies on their Civil War tour entertaining the troops) wrote, "I like a look of agony, because I know it's true," and the songs here proceed from this basic principle. At times perky, funny, lustful, or even philosophical, they are ultimately all drawn from the same bitter well of authentic despair. As such, they transcend the parent series, which, for all the chicly bleak namedrops and second-hand Gore, was ultimately cute. Merritt has a finer sense of Gorey: the understated suggestion in the lines "There's a hook-handed person/ And others with nastier parts" from the opening "Scream and Run Away", for example; or this simple couplet: "In the reptile room there's an evil man/ In a strange costume; do not ride in his van".

Indeed, a couple of songs here rival "Gloomy Sunday" (the 1930 Hungarian "suicide song", banned until recently from British airwaves) for sublime dejection, and their presence on what's ostensibly a children's record is really quite subversive. Who would feel entirely comfortable sending their kids to bed with a song like "Smile! No Once Cares How You Feel", which notes that "everyone you despise will die" and quite blithely suggests that since nothing is true, everything is permitted? Or "Nothing Is What It Seems" -- a gorgeous lullaby which in its own lugubrious way is a sweeter, more seductive companion piece to Richard Thompson's searing "The End of the Rainbow"?

Elsewhere, jauntier though no less morbid numbers like "Freakshow" ("Real people look on you/ Like something unpleasant for the garbage crew to do/ Real people question how/Someone took a lobster's face and/ Put it on a cow") suggest that it was Merritt who should have got the gig of turning Miss Lonelyhearts into a musical. Strangely enough, Merritt sounds like he's having more fun than he has done in years. And after several albums of being subjected to his ukulele, it's also a pleasure to hear the return of Merritt's emphysemic synth orchestra, burbling away on "In the Reptile Room" or "The World is a Very Scary Place".

Profoundly fun as it is, The Tragic Treasury begs questions about Stephin Merritt's future. He's stated that he agreed to work on the Chinese operas and the Hans Christian Anderson project (with their release earlier this year, TTT is, remarkably, his fourth album of the year) because it seemed good experience on his way to fulfilling his ambition of "writing 100 Hollywood musicals." But the lesson of his recent albums seems to be that he's truly happiest singing songs of elegant despair. Now, a Cole Porter or a Larry Hart may have been Merritt's equal in terms of misanthropic wit, but they also managed to write songs that became standards across the emotional range, songs that everyone wanted to sing. It remains to be seen if Merritt has the negative capability to write convincingly for people outside of his own bleak sensibility. But until he does, he's guaranteed the number one song in Purgatory.