The Little Prince – Review

The Little PrinceThe Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The Little Prince is a magical tale about a pilot who crashes his plane in the Sahara and meets a boy; a little Prince. The pilot is enchanted by the sweet enigmatic boy and they soon become friends. The little Prince reveals his origins and shares his innocent wisdom. The pilot is slowly reconnected with a long-forgotten way of seeing; a child’s truth that he had learnt to suppress in order to become a socially acceptable adult concerned solely with ‘matters of consequence’.

The inter-stellar adventures of the cherubic boy show the pilot the absurdity of a material world concerned with placing numerical and monetary values upon beauty and life. The man is reminded of the futility of the human race.  The little Prince and the pilot together learn about friendship, love and loss.

In the unassuming demeanour of a child, there is a powerful voice that tricks you into thinking it is but a whisper when in reality, it hollers at your conscience and summons your spirit.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s Le Petit Prince is one of the most treasured books I have ever read. There are some tales that are made of gold. Live with it. Live with the Little Prince on his asteroid.

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About the Author

Antoine Marie Jean-Baptiste Roger comte de Saint Exupéry had a very long name.  He was a French aristocrat and aviator.  On December 30, 1935 at 02:45 a.m., after 19 hours and 44 minutes in the air, Saint-Exupéry, along with his mechanic-navigator André Prévot, crashed in the Sahara desert. They were attempting to break the speed record in a Paris-to-Saigon air race (called a raid) and win a prize of 150,000 francs.Their plane was a Caudron C-630 Simoun, and the crash site is thought to have been near the Wadi Natrun valley, close to the Nile Delta.

Both miraculously survived the crash, only to face rapid dehydration in the intense desert heat. Their maps were primitive and ambiguous, leaving them with no idea of their location. Lost among the sand dunes, their sole supplies were grapes, two oranges, a thermos of sweet coffee, chocolate, a handful of crackers, and a small ration of wine. The pair had only one day’s worth of liquid.

They both began to see mirages and experience auditory hallucinations, which were quickly followed by more vivid hallucinations. By the second and third day, they were so dehydrated that they stopped sweating altogether. Finally, on the fourth day, a Bedouin on a camel discovered them and administered a native rehydration treatment that saved their lives. The near brush with death would figure prominently in his 1939 memoir, Wind, Sand and Stars, winner of several awards. Saint-Exupéry’s classic novella The Little Prince, which begins with a pilot being marooned in the desert, is in part a reference to this experience.


Biography source:


Interesting 1979 clay animation film of the Little Prince with bonkers music.  Warning: If you haven’t read the book, don’t watch this film in case you cannot get the unremittingly screechy voice behind the little Prince out of your head. 🙂







I held her hair back in a ponytail while she puked in the loo.  It was auburn and thick in my grasp and I envied her its weight and tone and sheen. I admired her freckles and her translucent skin and I wished for long legs like hers that didn’t meet in the middle and rub together, like mine. And I wanted her C cup to boot and her clothes and her confidence and her smartness. Heather was so ‘very’. But I was slower and rounder and softer and fatter and I bulged and I bulge. Why do we not look in the mirror at fourteen and say: ‘this is exactly who I wish to be?’  What power, what strength I could have had.  And I’ll bet I’d have been less likely to put up with that philandering twat who walloped me in the face and the rest, if I’d known what was what and who was who.


Best friends. We were best friends and I loved her. She was mean at times but her sharp manner and prickly bearing only made me want to be her friend more, as though fear was to be respected and her kindness to be won. I admired her. I admired her rabbits and her cats and her dog and her leather jackets and her ability to get to Level 28 in Chuckie Egg.  And she had a way, when the notion took her, of shining a light on me. To be in the glow of her attentions was to feel like I’d made it. It was like I met her high, unforgiving standards of success that she placed on herself and those around her. And in a way, I believe that she wanted me to be like her because it was her way of loving. It was her way of being a friend.


But she could not see the goodness in me because I had different dreams. I wanted to say: ‘What are you striving for? Why are you trying so hard to beat time and money and life and everyone around you? Whoever said we could or should have it all should be…corrected. It’s too much. We don’t need it all. We just need enough to get by. The rest is just plastic packaging and polystyrene foam; non-biodegradable clutter. You are exactly who you should be, exactly who you are and the only thing you need to do is be good at being you.’


But I did not say it and with a scuffle and a spark and ruffled quills in the hen house, thirty years of laughter and fighting and adventure and caring and bitching and sharing has come to to an end.


Goodbye Heather.  Goodbye and Goodnight.




Image 1: Sourced at excellent blog here:

Image 2: Two Old Ladies, Dave Beckerman at