The Aversive Clause is rough. The characters are grasping, helpless; all their romances are doomed and their worlds inevitably will come crashing to an end. The stories are not gentle or sweet, but neither are they overly gritty. They are simply rough . . . uncomfortable. And still most, if not all, of the pieces are hilarious in their own right, if viewed from the proper angle. One can either look at a failing world and despair or chuckle. The Aversive Clause wants you to do both at the same time. Edwards's prose is artful but by no means flawless, and those parts that are garish are pointedly laid bare like an assortment of picked over candies, the last in the box of dime-store chocolates. Some of them may very well be palatable, while others will cause wonder at why they were written--or even conceived of--in the first place. This collection is for those who would choose the cherry cordial over the caramel, the off-brand coconut over the chocolate-coated toffee. It is wholly sweet, but also rather disquieting.