This is Beckett's first novel, written in Paris in 1932. It was not published until after Beckett's death, and then amid "much vexatious dispute", as the present publisher has it (since 1989, there has been some unseemly squabbling among publishers, on both sides of the Atlantic, over early work which Beckett himself would have preferred to leave unpublished). Dream is very much a young man's book, drunk on its own cleverness and the author's formidable learning, yet Beckett's abiding concerns are all here, in ovo. An exuberant, irreverent (lots of Beckettian scatological humour), curiously touching jeu d'esprit, which will be enjoyed, at least intermittently, by scholar and "ordinary" reader alike.