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The Lemon Jell-O Syndrome

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WHAT READERS ARE SAYING:

“My Auntie’s customers often ask for “feel-good” or “good-hearted” books along the lines of Alexander McCall Smith or Frederik Backman. This romantic comedy novel is a gem! And not a dull diamond, but a sparkling, rich ruby of a read. If you enjoy the history and origins of language for its own sake, this unique look at the Roman alphabet will draw you in and never let you go. The story is funny, and sweet and ultimately hopeful.”—Holly Doering, Auntie’s Bookstore, Spokane, Washington


“an intelligent, whimsical gem of a novel . . . laugh-out-loud funny . . . infused with touching moments . . . Humorous plays on words, shrewd turns of phrases, oxymorons, and paradoxes: there are enough literary techniques employed in The Lemon Jell-O Syndrome to delight any word lover. Coupled with a funny and touching storyline, they make for a winning combination within a truly unique and gratifying reading experience.” —Foreword

“A ...charming, gravely loopy bit of whimsy equally likely to appeal to amateur etymologists, untenured
academics, spouses who fear cuckolding, and anyone who’s ever woken up with the feeling that they
aren’t quite themselves.”—Kirkus Reviews

“In his third novel, Martin celebrates language, absurdity, and human connection . . . Martin’s offbeat humor and sharp wit call to mind Thomas McGuane, while the charmingly hapless Bone is a singular joy to encounter.” –Jonathan Fullmar, Booklist

“It’s the rare novel that can achieve this perfect mix of whimsical and smart.”─Sheri Joseph, Where You Can Find Me

“Man Martin is one of the most wildly inventive writers to come my way in years. I could invoke various names—Barry Hannah and Padgett Powell come to mind—but really, he’s got his own voice, and it’s one you won’t forget. I admire this new work without reservation.  Formally fresh, it’s also a ripping good story, with many a drop of plain old wisdom thrown in. I believe in this guy.”—Steve Yarbrough, The Realm of Last Chances

“Cleverly exuberant and exuberantly clever, Man Martin’s The Lemon Jell-O Syndrome mixes satire, slapstick, and surreal hilarity into an improbable stew of human frailty and Kafkaesque charm. A delightful romp full of heart and humor.” — Dinty W. Moore, The Mindful Writer: Noble Truths of the Writing Life”

“The Lemon Jell-O Syndrome by Man Martin is an exceptional book: smart, funny, and clever. Martin has a deft and subtle touch when commenting upon the human condition, and I see a little of myself in each of his characters. Whenever I have the privilege of sampling new work by this author, I find that the reader in me is quite happy to enjoy the story even as the writer in me is clinically noting that the bar for good fiction has once again been raised.”—Raymond L. Atkins, Sweetwater Blues

“Calling all word junkies!  Calling all grammar freaks!  The Lemon Jell-O Syndrome by Man Martin is a delightfully quirky book, the likes of which you’ve never read before.  Etymologist/professor Bone is dealing with a “locking legs” issue, trying to keep his wife from running off with the gardener, and hoping to hold on to his job as he works on a doctoral dissertation, a book called Words. What sounds like a dire situation is actually a wonderful romp through the human condition, delivering laugh-out-loud gems and touchingly gentle morsels.  Relish this book!”—Nancy Simpson-Brice, Book Vault, Oskaloosa, IA

MAN MARTIN

THE LEMON JELL-O SYNDROME

Sometimes Bone King cannot go through doors.  He has no physical impairment, but at times his brain and muscles simply can’t recall how to walk him through them. Perhaps it has something to do with his being distracted thinking about grammar and etymology all the time, or maybe it’s anxiety that his wife is having an affair with the yardman. 

But then renowned neurologist Arthur Limongello offers a diagnosis as peculiar as the ailment: Bone’s self is starting to dislodge from his brain.  The treatment is a series of therapeutic tasks; Bone must compliment a stranger each day, do good deeds without being asked, and remind himself each morning, that “Today is a good day!”

But first, as a temporary measure, he also suggests Bone simply try to dance through the doorways. And for a time, Bone’s square dancing, the only kind of dance he knows how to do, seems to more or less work.

Bone’s condition begins to improve, but then his wife leaves him, and after a harrowing ordeal during which he nearly loses his life, Bone makes an astounding discovery about the man who has been calling himself Dr. Limongello. 

Below is an animation created by flipping the pages of the book.  Great fun!

BOOK INFORMATION

$17.00 | Paperback | 5 1/2 x 8 1/4 | 272 pages

May 2017

ISBN: 978-1-60953-141-6 | Carton Quantity: 24

EISBN: 978-1-60953-139-3

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READ EXCERPT

The night before being struck by the Lemon Jell-O Syndrome, his private nickname for his terrible, incapacitating illness, Bone King taught Wednesday night Composition 1101 with an unease with which it has rarely been taught.  When reminding his students that the object of a preposition could never be a subject, he spoke as if it came as a personal tragedy.  Suspecting your wife of infidelity, and only suspecting – if my wife is cheating – is a subordinate clause that wrings the heart like a mop until there is a declarative sentence to complete it.

The clock by the door told him motion by motion when Mary would be coming home from Grace Church and changing to go out to Jelly Jam: now letting herself in the kitchen door – now making the orbit from kitchen to bedroom to bathroom, changing from work clothes, getting ready to leave – putting perfume behind her ears?

Born in the Tennessee back hills, Bone was an unlikely candidate to become a scholar.  He could quote Seneca in Latin, but he was haunted by the dread that he’d never really overcome his pronunciation of “pin” for “pen” nor lost that weighty one-word imperative, “gih-yawn-owwa-hyeah!” he once used against hound dogs in the kitchen or chickens on the front porch.  Through monkish solitude and dedicated study, he’d climbed the greasy trunk of academe and published his master’s thesis, Misplaced Modifiers, which won First Place for Books on Grammar and Usage in the Southeast.  His further ascent seemed foregone, but the struggle had cost him.  Wherever he went, a silent inner voice went also, a running commentary on usage and etymology.  Mary had once loved his dreaminess, but now complained he didn’t pay enough attention.  The truth was he paid too much, only never to the right things.  Sometimes he wondered if this weren’t a sign of mild lunacy but then he’d spot in luna-cy the ghostly lexical thumbprint of the moon, and with that he’d be off in another world.
By the time he got home, the sun had set, and it was dark.  She was at the club. 

“Chicken and rice on the counter,” Mary’s note said.  He turned on the TV and listened from the kitchen as his dinner rotated, humming in the lighted window of the microwave.  He sat in the recliner, plate in his lap, bathed in the vapor from his chicken and rice and the blue-white glow of Wednesday night reruns: a medical comedy with a hard-working, no-nonsense doctor, a wise-cracking nurse, and a quirky patient with a strange diagnosis.  After his solitary meal, Bone went to bed.

Mary.

Had another man touched that smooth white skin?  Her naked back, where it tapered to her waist.  A masculine hand, black hairs bristling around a heavy old-fashioned wristwatch, resting itself along the curve, two fingers lightly curled along the cleft…

Bone noted, observed and tagged the minutes passing on the glowing alarm clock as he lay, alternating between sweats and shivers.  At last the front door opened.  Boards creaked down the hall and into the bathroom.  Flush.  The shower ran.  A toothbrush scrubbed. A drawer opened and closed.  Mary – soap smell and scrubbed skin – eased into the covers beside him.  Bone pretended to have just awoken.

“So, how was tonight?”  No response.  “How was Jelly Jam?”

“It was great.”  She readjusted herself on her pillow.

“So who else was there?”

THE AUTHOR

Man Martin

Man Martin is the author of two previous widely lauded novels for which he was twice named Georgia Author of the Year.  He also is a cartoonist whose current daily comic strip Inkwell Forest (Man Overboard) is available online and through daily email feed to subscribers. Martin currently teaches high school English and coaches debate in Atlanta, Georgia, where he lives with his wife Nancy, his dog, cat and pet chicken

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