A Review of THE LITTLE PRINCE (1943)
Author: Antoine De Saint-Exupery
Animating 4 hours at a stretch isn't much fun, though its a relief that you're not animating ALL the time. So I sauntered into the library (which I hadn't seen for the past six months) and instead of just sitting and reading Asterix as I had been doing for the past few days, I decided to pick up a book. A friend browsing nearby suggested this one:
I just finished the book. All I can say is, READ it. It will make you feel so small. I'm usually wordy in my reviews but right now I seem to have lost all control of my vocal faculties. My brain and my words are disconnected ...
By the time I got to the end of the book, I had this strange feeling that I was completely empty, that there was a void inside me that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I had got the same feeling after reading Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull sometime last semester.
Saint-Exupery, through the character of the Little Prince, puts his finger on things we wouldn't even have considered otherwise. His Little Prince's view of the world is so simple yet so complicated, and so achingly innocent. The Little Prince is one who wants to love and does not quite know how to go about it ... a seemingly intrepid explorer yet never losing his childlike fragility.
Beautiful, beautiful book. It ought to be animated (provided justice can be done to Saint-Exupery's illustrations.) The child that he has retained in himself, as well as in his writing and illustrations, is to be envied.