Antoine de Saint Exupery’s Children’s Novella The Little Prince
Critically examine The Little Prince as a children’s novella by Antoine De Saint Exupery

Like The Pilgrim’s Progress and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Antoine De Saint Exupery’s historico-autobiographical novella, The Little Prince is an allegorical narrative of the innocence manifested and cherished in the terrains and frontiers of nature and humanity.

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.” Romanticization and fantasization with roses in the lamb like spirited angelic soul is literally unfathomable to the authorial autobiographical narrator. This is evidently crystal clear that P. L. Travers, author of Mary Poppins, rightly prophesied that, “The Little Prince will shine upon children with a sidewise gleam. It will strike them in some place that is not in the mind and glow there until the time comes for them to comprehend it.”

“You can’t ride a flock of birds to another planet” pontificates the assertion of the Little Prince’s cosmic odyssey from varieties of galaxies after being exiled from homeland asteroid B612. Personalities of this peregrination enlist a king’s empty domain or the hollow sham of the conceited man, a drunkard with the tremens delirium, the business tycoon’s engagement with the proprietorial starship, the extinguishing and relighting of lamppost every thirty seconds interval and finally the elderly geographer’s errand persuasive of the stately invitation to the monarch. Apart from these, the Little Prince encounters the railway switchman and the merchant. Firmament of the imagination and will-o-the-wisp reign within the fantastical narrative and thus projected as fable and parable.

That the sensitive blond stark hair, mysterious and adventuresome, precocious, charismatic
angelic lamblike child is a telepathic wonderkid of dreams and castles that brings back the old memories of the gullible and melodramatic narratorial personae. Both chroniclers including the young at heart narrator aviator as well as the seraphim cherubim sophomoric little prince are preoccupied in the quest for the springwell in the sand dunes of desert canyons. The Little Prince is the embodiment of buccaneering sea pirate vessel along with the blast from the past trip down the memory lane of the aviator’s personage. Captivating and fascinating detective novella of the mainstream childrens’ literature The Little Prince encapsulates satiric penchant of allegorical fable as pontificated by the characters of anthropomorphic beasts such as the Fox.

Fox is the reincarnate of companionship, fraternity, solidarity, association, camaraderie,
fellowship, closeness, amnesty, brethrenship, brotherhood, matyness, chumminess and
clubbiness. Upon the sea of time little prince certainly must have been elated by the euphoric ecstasy of the rapport between this beast in want of taming: “But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat.”

This quotable speech insinuates the overtones of springtime golden harvest season being
eternalized despite fugacious mendacity. Since the fox aspires to be domesticated by masterly human farmers and ultimately beseeches socialization within the anthropogenic anthropocene.

As if truth and beauty and beauty and truth allusion, a carnivorous fox pledges melodramatic
rhetoric to the dumbfounded and stupefied little prince: “If you tame then we will need each
other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.”
After all, the penultimate gospel of the fox enshrines a universalistic lesson: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

Absurdities, travesties, follies, blunders, idiosyncrasies are burlesqued and lampooned by the novelist of The Little Prince. Rapaciousness and avariciousness of the case study implicated the mercenary capitalistic money grubbing extortionate business tycoon. Detachment and dissociation from the reality of romance and chivalry as engendered by this materialistic acquisition of wealth and fortunes in space time travel. Furthermore drunk as a wheelbarrow is the satirical innuendo of dipsomania. Alcoholic’s drunkenness and sobriety allegorizes inward withdrawal of the slothful moron and lethargic escapist in fantasy of delusion and paranoia.

These are the gothic macabre scylla and slough of despondent charybdis from the exploratory voyages of the braggadocious inland creatures of the worldly planet. The lamplighter’s inclination epitomizing pedagogic pedantry is laconically prolific engrossment of puritanical orthodoxy embodied within the rhetoric: “There’s nothing to understand. Orders are orders.”

Sanctimonious outlook and puritanical viewpoint underscored by the sagacious allegory and sententious caricature of mankind by the observant little princes’ imago alludes to the psychic double and doppelganger of the aviator narrator. Thus the pilot of the aircraft lampoons and burlesques superficialities and travesties of humankind in the vein of the doppelganger effect.

Moreover, the solitary figure of the chronicling aviator narratorial personae is the incarnate of solitudinous solipsism, narcissistic obsession and seclusionary detachment. Candidness and frankness, outspokenness and open mindedness of the naive and gullible Little Prince are the characteristic traits that harbour the harbinger of philosophical profundity. Symbolic wonderful lamp espoused by this harbinger transcends spiritual deadliness through subversive triumphalism of Platonic idiolect: “That a life unexamined is unworthy of living.”

Since the uncluttered lovey dovey cherubic, seraphic and lamb-like cupid child, the prodigy poltergeist chronicler Little Prince condones the domain of power, fame, wealth and money as prospects yielding toward the brink of futility. Leisure and pleasure of modernity are thus let bygones by bygones at the connivance of the Little Prince. This young at heart princely juvenilia is that stellar and cosmic apple of the aviator’s eye symbolizing curiosity is the mother of invention.

Pragmatist rationalism of the quasi autobiographical narrative is reflective of the aviator’s professional and personal odyssey and/ or bildungsroman. Alienation of literal solitariness in the canyons of Sahara mirror emotional and psychological state/stance as embodied by seclusionary detachment. Elevation of lonesomeness by the gaiety and joviality of childhood roots entrenched in past upbringings nostalgic introspection. Transformation of the narratorial personae being open mindedness to the exposure of the little prince, conniving materialistic accomplishments and achievements. Melancholic and contemplative stance of the mysteries of human relationships sojourning into the trajectory from loss of innocence to the absurdist realism of the world. Protective and possessive relationship emphases real friendship. Compassion and empathy demonstrates existentialist aviator’s nostalgic yearnings as depicted by the little prince. Reckoning of wonder charismatically espouses love, relationship, fantasy, imagination, human companionship in the symbolic quest for survivalism. Cooperation and coexistence of both realistic and fantastic outlooks and points of views are essential traits explored by the novelist.

Rembrandt                                                                                       

That day alone in Amsterdam, boats, bicycles, glimpses of tiny de Hooch courtyards and everywhere, tall thin houses reflected in canals, after Van Gogh, the Night Watch and many weeping Mary Magdalenes witnessing Descents from the Cross, I pass through the Red-Light District, ordinary and lethargic in daylight, elicit turning matter of fact; a few women in their windows yawn, sip coffee to begin their day; the pungent aroma of Mary Jane is pumped into immaculate alleys; on an impulse, I buy a little, fat and happy Hotei in the open-air market.

Eventually, I find the green shutters, my destination, Rembrandt’s house, and admire what he admired: seashells, swords, helmets, bones, busts and books. In his studio, it’s as if he stepped out for a moment, powdered pigments readied for grinding into walnut and linseed oils. Up the narrow staircase, on the middle floor for the group tour, a pleasant young woman inks and rolls his image through a wooden press.

In an odd tourist’s transference, we fall into a conversation over etching, Rembrandt and Amsterdam. She lightly touches my arm and offers me a generous smile and a print from the Master. I think I would very much like to kiss her, and I’m fairly certain she’d return the affection. Occasionally, I find myself missing her: we would live in a modest houseboat, skirmish over Dutch and American politics, pull prints all day from Rembrandt’s press, make love in Rembrandt’s bed. Instead, upon my return to Ohio, I send her one of my prints and, rightly so, never hear from her again.

David Sapp, danieldavidart@gmail.com 

Biographical Information: David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, lives along the southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.

Bad Craziness Rising

Walking into the Cosmos Bar

In Soi Cowboy in Bangkok

The City of Lost Angels.

That nefarious den

of iniquity and evilness

Twenty drinks too sober.

I sat down at that bar

Watching the mad scene unfold

The naked ladies dancing.

Drinking one scotch, one bourbon

And one Singha beer.

With my buddies.

the whole motley

Jack Daniels crew.

Drinking with Mr. Baker Beam, Jim Beam, Mr. Blanton

Mr. Booker, Elijah Craig, Jack Daniels

George Dickel, Thomas H. Handy, Basil Haydens

Henry McKenna, Old Mr. Forester, Mr. Jameson

Mr. Nester, David Nichols, Benjamin Prichard,

George T. Stagg, Colonel E.H. Taylor,

Johny Walker, Evans Williams, William Larue Weller

W.L. Weller Pappy Van Winkle, and his old  Grand Dad.

The scent of bad craziness

Hung in the air like

A sexed-up durian fruit.

an over-ripe mango girl

Desperately seeking to have sex

With wild, dressed-up bananas

Running around with the Orange Man.

Down the Street,

the Moon, looks out on the mad scene

Sniffs the air, saying,

“Man, this is bad craziness”

And runs away to join her lover the Sun

In an orgy of drunken forgetfulness

The Planet Mars, not amused, chases after the maiden Venus

Under the cold, calculating glances of the Planet Pluto

The Moon and the Sun rent a room in the Hotel Venus

Across from the Jupiter All Night Diner

Cosmic shit kickers, out for a night of Earth bashing

The Earth trembles, shaken

Moans with passion, and I awake

Saying, that was bad craziness.

Out there on the edge

Between the inner me and the outer zone

I went on down that road heading to hell

Just as fast as I could drink it all down.

And met me a lady, an outlaw lady on the far side.

Money, power, and passion rolled up in a bundle

Electric chemistry fills my head,

Zapping my brain into demented muscles

As I give in to the

“bao bao ya yah Madi “ madness

Bad craziness overwhelmed me.

All around me.

As paranoid, pulsating images scream out

With mad passion, and demented noises

The night turns ugly fast

And very, very weird

Weirdness in the air

The scent of bad craziness.

As the wild things come out to play.

The moon is freaked out

The Sun falls asleep in the gutter

And I say to myself, I’m just another cosmic Guy

On the loose, on the edge, on the wild side of things

Watching the show unfold, I wonder,

Is this all nothing but a cosmic drunken bum show?

Who is the star, who is she – the naked maiden up there in the bar

Black, leather jackets on stage naked visions of nightly lust

Dancing with an attitude that could kill an elephant in heat

And the Moon continues to dance across the evening sky

Satisfied, allows mankind to sleep it off.

Yet another night in the city of demented lunatic hell’s angels

Finally, rest as the sun comes up casting its evil eye over the sleeping city

Dispelling the bad craziness for a spell.

Blasting the wild things back to hell.

The masks come back on

And I walk down the road

Putting everything back into the box.

Until the next night of bad craziness

Let’s the wild beast within

Escape its leash.

Bad craziness rising yet again.

The second autumn of the Blockade was coming. Our second house was also bombed. Since it was made of wood, it burned down to the foundation. Not only clothes and some other things were lost in this fire, but most offensively, almost all our family photos and some documents – everything that was saved in the spring from the Petrograd apartment.

After that, we lived with some relatives of my father for a while. I don’t remember this period so much, although it foreshadowed the end of my blockade story.

It happened in a completely ordinary way. It’s just that one day after school, my father told us:

– Volodya, Alexey, we are leaving.

The mother and sister were already aware, the youngest was unconscious after another illness. And we lost contact with Ivan and Leonid a few months ago.

We decided and were going to drive fast, literally during the day. That’s how the Blockade and my childhood in Leningrad ended for me. I didn’t know if I would come back then or not, what my life would be like next. But there’s something left in that city, maybe it’s a part of my soul.

Scribbles

[Written at a Boston-based writing group and included in Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self]

La vie

Ah, la douleur de la vie;
So sorrowful this life can be,
We live in a constant that is uncertainty,
Waiting to awaken each morning can be tiresome,
Waking from a nightmare can be winsome,
‘Til we see the dreadful daylight of reality!
Yearning to sleep;
Daring to wake;
What comes next?
Life is but a haste!

Bird Bath

The mockingbird emerged from its bath,
Singing while in sat on a raft,
Looking into the distant path,
And poised with some sass,
Swiftly flew off in a fit of wrath!

Insomnia

I dreamed I had insomnia
And birds of prey roamed
‘Round my sphere
My heart rhythm’s tachycardia
Abided in a bed of fear…
I dreamt I slept with insomnia
echoes of children
Resounded like nostalgia
My senses somewhat forlorn
Yearning for the years bygone
Wishing to wish away my melancholia
I dream of sleep
Awake I weep
I dreamt i prayed
My soul to keep
I fell asleep
Or so it seems
Wishing to weep
For my esteem
Alas to sleep
Perchance to dream…

What Place is This?

Surrounded by a shadowy grey environ,
Sitting cross legged on some ground,
Looking up in a circular motion,
I wondered why there was no one else around…
Yearning to hear a sound;
Something has blurred my vision,
Suddenly I hear a pound,
Could thunder be a thing I found?!
Alas…The dawning of my wakening,
I am living in a cloud!!!

Jacques Stanley Fleury is a Haitian-American Poet, Author and Educator. He holds an undergraduate degree in Liberal Arts and is currently pursuing graduate studies in the literary arts at Harvard University online. Once on the editing staff of The Watermark, a literary magazine at the University of Massachusetts, his first book Sparks in the Dark: A Lighter Shade of Blue, A Poetic Memoir was featured in and endorsed by the Boston Globe. His second book: It’s Always Sunrise Somewhere and Other Stories is a collection of short fictional stories dealing with the human condition as the characters navigate life’s foibles and was featured on Good Reads. His current book and hitherto magnum opus Chain Letter to America: The One Thing You Can Do to End Racism, A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism explores social justice in America and his latest book, “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  along with all other previously mentioned titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, Porter Square Books, The Grolier Bookshop, Goodreads, bookshop, Amazon etc…  His CD A Lighter Shade of Blue as a lyrics writer in collaboration with the neo-folk musical group Sweet Wednesday is available on Amazon, iTunes & Spotify to benefit Haitian charity St. Boniface.

Andrea Ceccomori, the flutist who is conquering the world

Andrea Ceccomori, flutist and founder of Assisi Suono Sacro, is now the most acclaimed flutist in the world, an eclectic artist with an always generous invention. Assisi, where Saint Francis was born, is twinned with San Francisco, founded by the Franciscan missions. This Franciscan imprint of SF is expressed through cultural and religious dialogue and in care for animals and nature. An aspect of Saint Francis that should be remembered is that he was the first to create a religious bridge between Christians and Muslims through the king of Egypt Kamel. Ceccomori, who has concerts scheduled also in Egypt, has just had two recent successes: one at the beginning of October in SF on the occasion of the celebration of the St. Francis feast day at the SF Shrine church and Porziuncola Nuova and the other in China, where Ceccomori is popular. Ceccomori’s tour with pianist Sebastiano Brusco ended on November 2nd at the Art Oriental Theatre in Shanghai.

Ceccomori played a program of classical pieces such as Bach, Donizetti, Franck, Briccialdi, Rossini, Massenet, and Debussy, along with pieces composed by him including his hymn to peace and other Chinese pieces very popular in China such as Butterfly Lovers and My Motherland.

In the first part of the tour also participated the soprano Chiara Giudice who sang pieces by Puccini and Verdi. Shanghai Media Group curated the events and “Guiyahui” by Emma Wang Qin promoted the mega tour with concerts at the UCAS University in Beijing, the most important university in China and at the University of Hangzhou and at the International Festival Encuentros Art in Uangshang, with lectures by Ceccomori in a climate of exchanges with Chinese artists who often travel to SF where 35% of the city’s population is Chinese. Ceccomori is very attached to poetry and especially to that of Saint Francis. The flutist wrote the music for the famous “Canticle of the Creatures” by Saint Francis with a concert in Rome in 2022 and in Vienna in 2023 and has a project where the recitation of the “Canticle” of Saint Francis in the original language and in English will be part of his homonymous concert. 

From the Louvre in Paris to the Lincoln Center in NYC, Ceccomori, also artistic director of the Assisi Suono Sacro festival, is intensifying his relations with the city of SF to consolidate splendid artistic and cultural bridges.

Alone

This sound says more than I can say Your trail stretched out in front of me But I don’t feel capable of walking it It’s like a cold shadow that doesn’t allow the seed to sprout, An interrupted laugh still in my throat…. And I’ll still be here at midnight At the nearest train station, towers of fog lie on the night roads of the mind, Follow the line of reason; the intrepid destiny of dawn, Before the world spins and the heart shakes, The space opens for another farewell wave…

I want you closer, but I don’t know where to start. The night kissed the wind and the rain fainted around the corner, The welcome signs faded into the landscape. One time, joy folded her tiny hand and snapped her fingers into glittery lights. In my thinnest version it was necessary to be vast and embrace all sights. Only among the white-capped Nordic mountains did a new day emerge transiently, And each step made everything coexist simultaneously, and perhaps it had been like this since the beginning: white sand house, blue flame of the northern lights, coastal mill headquarters, salt dune, matrix flora, abyssal paradise, rainbow in the shape of a pinwheel.