In the lurid and ash-bound dreamscapes of Ian Felice's The Moon Over Edgar, sleep conjures the dangerous and darling vertex of surprise. These linked sonnets chart the uncanny pursuits of an insurance salesman named Edgar, inviting us into realms of the strange-fairy tales, prophecies, premonitions-with a powerful sense of beauty and candor, ultimately delivering a fantastic and frightening world of infinite possibility. By the book's end, we find ourselves in Edgar's shoes, asking: "Well-dressed skeletons, spinning carelessly, / Transport me to that happy place."