The title is ironic, but only mildly so. These collections don't offer the kind of fetuses-in-the-sewer bleakness that's the domain of Yoshihiro Tatsumi. If they did, the title would be actively horrible and sophomoric. Exclamation point aside, it might be read with a flat intonation and a hint of a smirk. The world that Inio portrays isn't wonderful, but it isn't a pit of despair either. It's just kind of hard, though it has its compensations.