Murphy, as these other Amazon critics have suggested, is not Beckett's greatest work. Perhaps, though, it is his most lovable book, the last time he seemed to care so deeply about his characters. The final chapter even verges on sentiment-- and whoever accused Beckett of that? This is Beckett before he became the Beckett of fame, before he began stripping away all excesses. This is Beckett before the war, when he was still writing in English, when he was still under the influence of Joyce. Others have noted the facts. But the truth is that Beckett, even in the adolescence of his genius, was a strong enough writer to forge his own consciousness. A writer below commends the first sentence, and I concur. It's a beauty, recalling the verses of Ecclesiastes and foreshadowing the grim honesty of Beckett's future sentences. For a reader curious about Samuel Beckett, Murphy is a good place to start.