The Little Prince

I never knew how moving The Little Prince could be until now. It’s a Saturday, and such a lazy afternoon at that so I found myself taking Aly’s copy of this Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s work, out of retirement. It’s a shame that it had taken me eighteen years of existence before I finally had the chance to read this novella. But I reckon that now is a good time as any considering my age as dangerously close to that fine demarcation line of being a child and being a grown-up.

I remember this conversation I overheard about a year or two ago. I was at this bookstall at AS walk browsing thru their books. This student beside me was gushing about her fondness for The Little Prince. The book seller, who’s an old man in his mid-40s, answered back to the student saying that it’s a truly extraordinary book, and then he went on recounting his short story when he first bought his own copy, supposedly for his young son to read. Out of tradition (and maybe to be on the safe side too) he read it first before handing it over to his son, but what he didn’t expect was for himself to learn a lot more than he expected to be, from what is technically, a children’s book.

For a while, I was curious about the mentioned book. But I did not buy it right there and then of course, for reasons that 1). I had no business getting a book since during that time, I was still on a critical hunt to find Albert Camus’ The Plague required for my English class. 2). I thought the old man was just making up his story, an underhand ploy to sell his books. 3). And finally, probably the most conceited of all reasons there is: I fancied myself old enough to read such a children’s literature. So, I left. The Little Prince forgotten afterward.

But now, one or two years later, after reading the book, I could attest to the old man that I was just as entranced by the book as he was the first time. What I thought was a simple just-to-pass-the-time leisurely light reading turned out to be a profound, insightful teaching about human character and conduct.

It’s essentially a children’s book, but thankfully not the usual once-upon-a-time, fairy tales of prince and princesses whatever, but a rather shrewd account which, if I’m being honest, has more significance than some of the adult novels I’ve read before (hint hint: Fern Michaels' Future Scrolls, yuckkkk! I wasted my money on that one! Don't make the same mistake I did!).

Now, The Little Prince… that’s the highly recommendable one. Go read, if you haven’t yet. It’s one extraordinaire of a book every adult must read before they die, yes.

A little secret if I might add too: I wept. Towards the end. It’s a less than 100-paged story, and I effin’ wept like a little girl whose rag doll had been snatched by a playmate. But I wouldn’t say it’s pathetic or something to be embarrassed about. It’s natural. One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets herself be tamed.