Marcel

Marcel, being stories collected: stories as dashed-off failures, rubbled; stories as rotten attempts, mounting; stories as odes to others, as burnt journals; stories as misspent youths, urgent; stories as fragments, ugly; a collected puddle of Midwestern or elsewheres ennui, ground up and arranged or scaled; slim fictive etchings toward an erasure of their author.

"While I was reading Grant Maierhofer's collection of fragments, names kept floating up, some ecstatically invoked in the stories, others kindred ghosts-Daniil Kharm's Today I Wrote Nothing, Robert Walser, Shulamith Firestone's Airless Spaces, Renata Adler's Speedboat, Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio. I felt such connection to these portraits of Midwestern stuckness, where characters cling to art as a way out of and a way into bewilderment and despair. Reading these beautiful shards of stories might make you feel okay for a while with your own loneliness.” Kate Zambreno, author of Heroines and Green Girl

“The stories in Marcel present an upper Midwest of bright young outsiders, humming and pulsing with anxiety, and in deep conversation with art, music, and literature. Incantatory sentences spin dizzily through a reader’s brain, and practically cause the breath to freeze in the sharp, summoned Wisconsin air. It’s a carefully crafted collection, clearly in love with its literary pedigree, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.”
– Matthew Simmons, author of Happy Rock

“Grant Maierhofer writes like someone who cut their
teeth on jail and so should you.”
– Sean Kilpatrick, author of fuckscapes and Gil the Nihilist

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