In 1946, half-way through the story that was to become ‘The End’, Beckett stopped writing in English and started writing in French. From then on Beckett wrote almost exclusively in his adopted tongue, translating into English initially in partnership with other translators but eventually undertaking the process on his own. This change of language is as convenient point as any to mark the beginning of his prolific and significant middle-period, during which he produced the works by which he is most widely known: ‘The Trilogy’ (Molly, Mallone Dies, The Unnamable) and Waiting For Godot.

‘The End’ then, is in many ways also a beginning, heralding as it does a new phase in Beckett’s writing in which he found the economical and direct voice for which he is so rightly remembered. Collected along with ‘The Expelled’, ‘The Calmative’ and ‘First Love’ these pieces would be worth reading for literary-historical interest alone, but they also more than pass muster when judged on their own considerable merits.

‘The Expelled’, ‘The Calmative’ and ‘The End’ are associated pieces, in which an unnamed narrator moves from place to place in search of food and shelter. Sometimes he is rejected, sometimes welcomed, but always with little explanation from those he meets and always with total indifference from himself. The exact and emotionless description with which the narrator greets all events prevents the stories from being tragic, and even renders them blackly comical:

I fell then, and brought down with me an old lady covered with spangles and lace who must have weighed about sixteen stone. Her screams soon drew a crowd. I had high hopes she had broken her femur, old ladies break their femur easily, but not enough, not enough.

‘First Love’ is a separate piece, and yet sits comfortably with the other three sharing as it does many of the same elements, and certainly a very similar narrative style. In fact, all four stories have elements that can be found in other of Beckett’s works: the ubiquitous greatcoat, often with attached hat; the aimless wandering; the strangely welcoming women; the obsessive approach to calculation. Both ‘The End’ and ‘First Love’ have flowers, cared for by the protagonist briefly before both wilting in almost exactly the same way. Had Beckett himself not expressly written “No symbols where none intended”, one would be sorely tempted to read some wider significance into these recurring and almost talismanic images.

For those who have not read much of Beckett’s works, these four short stories would make an ideal starting point: not as dense and linguistically challenging as the later pieces, and with a more recognisable narrative ark than Beckett would come to allow, but still unmistakably the work of a uniquely gifted writer. It is to be hoped that Faber’s republishing of some of the less well-known works of this masterful Irish-born émigré will bring him a wider and more understanding audience.

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