The manuscript of Samuel Beckett’s first novel is to go on display. It reveals that the author was no mean artist, if the marginal doodles are anything to go by. The school exercise books in which Murphy, published in 1938 and largely ignored at the time, were written are filled with such pictures indicating that Beckett appeared to be waiting for inspiration. I suspect that Trollope would have lacked the patience to wait for inspiration and would have written 2000 words on principle while waiting. Each to his own.