A short novel, the second of Beckett's trilogy. Malone lies in bed in a small room, old and nearly helpless, with only a stick and a few belongings. To pass the time while he waits for the end, he tells himself stories and takes stock of his possessions.
His tales concern invented people, and they drift into his own situation. The book is a bleak but often funny study of storytelling, solitude and the ageing body, written in a voice that is intimate and unsparing.