Back to Beckett
2025 marks the 70th anniversary of the first English language publication of Molloy, which along with Malone Dies and The Unnamable, was written as part of Samuel Beckett’s famed ‘frenzy of writing’ in the late 1940s.
Originally written in French because Beckett wanted to escape the limitations of writing in English and find a way to ‘write without style’, these novels form a loose trilogy written around the same time as his seminal Waiting for Godot. They are full of the same absurdist, messy and astounding writing and explore similar themes of identity, bodily decay and the limitations of language.
You must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on.
The iconic final line of The Unnamable – follow the link below to listen to a sound art piece created using voices from the Faber editorial and marketing teams.
About the Editions
Faber has republished the three novels in pocket-sized paperbacks with fittingly avant-garde covers, designed by Jonny Pelham and featuring artwork by Kurt Schwitters and Karl Wiener. They also have brand new introductions from Colm Tóibín, Claire-Louise Bennett and Eimear McBride.
Molloy
I am still alive then. That may come in useful.
Molloy, a sordid, bedridden vagrant, recalls a long bicycle ride in search of his mother. He describes sucking on stones, falling in love, getting arrested, killing a dog. Moran, a private detective, sets out to look for Molloy. But as Moran’s physical and mental state deteriorate, his narrative starts to mirror Molloy’s in mysterious ways.
Malone Dies
Nothing is more real than nothing.
Malone, a decrepit old man, lies naked in his bed, scrawling bitter observations in an exercise book. He is fed on a bed-table, his chamber pot is emptied, he hooks items with his stick, he looks out of the window. He tells the story of a man, looked after by nurses, taken for an ill-fated picnic on an island in the sea. As his mind disintegrates, so does the novel . . .
The Unnamable
I can’t go on, I’ll go on.
The Unnamable is a voice. Is it curled up inside an urn, on the point of being born, or is it about to die? Haunted by visitors, it weeps. The Unnamable sifts disjointed memories, grapples with the problem of existence and ultimately perpetuates itself through an endless stream of fragmented words.