Daniel: Alright Sophia, I have a challenge for you. Give me your five-word review of The Little Prince. Sophia: Oh, easy. "Sad space boy, needy flower." Daniel: Wow, brutal! And also… not entirely wrong from a certain point of view. It’s funny how our memory of this book changes. Sophia: I just remember a lot of talk about a sheep in a box and feeling very confused. And maybe a little sorry for the pilot stuck with this kid. Daniel: That's the perfect place to start, actually. Because today we are diving into The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. And what’s staggering is that this book, which feels like a whimsical, timeless fable, was written under the darkest of circumstances. Sophia: Really? It feels so light. Daniel: Saint-Exupéry was a pioneering aviator, a real-life adventurer. But he wrote this in 1942, exiled in New York, having fled Nazi-occupied France. He was a combat pilot, grounded and heartbroken over the state of the world. This book was his response. It’s a plea for humanity written in the middle of a war. Sophia: Whoa. Okay, that changes things. That gives the "sad space boy" a lot more weight. It's not just a children's story then. Daniel: Exactly. It’s a philosophical hand grenade disguised as a children’s book. And it all begins with that feeling you mentioned—being confused and misunderstood, specifically with a drawing.

Sophia: Right, the drawing that wasn't a hat! I do remember that. It’s a boa constrictor digesting an elephant, but every adult just sees a hat. Daniel: It's the perfect opening. The narrator, at six years old, creates this masterpiece of imagination, his "Drawing Number One," and the grown-ups’ response is, "That is a hat." They advise him to give up drawing and focus on "sensible" things like geography and grammar. Sophia: Oh, I know that feeling. It’s the death of a thousand cuts for any creative kid. You show someone your soul on a piece of paper, and they ask if it’s a piece of furniture. Daniel: And that experience shapes his entire view of the world. He becomes a pilot, meets lots of "grown-ups in positions of importance," and he carries that drawing with him as a litmus test. If someone sees a hat, he knows he can't talk to them about the real stuff—boa constrictors, primeval forests, stars. He has to bring himself down to their level and talk about bridge, golf, and neckties. Sophia: It’s a survival mechanism. You learn to speak the language of the planet you're on, even if it’s a boring one. But the Little Prince himself takes this critique to a whole new level, right? He goes planet-hopping and meets this gallery of ridiculous adults. Daniel: He really does. It’s like a tour of human folly. First, he meets the King on a tiny planet, draped in ermine, who believes he rules over everything. But his authority is a joke. He can only command the sun to set when the sun is already going to set. He insists on "reasonable" orders. Sophia: So he has the title of power, but no actual power. He's just performing authority. Sounds like a few managers I've known. Daniel: Then there's the Conceited Man, whose planet is even smaller. His only desire is to be admired. He wants the Little Prince to clap so he can tip his hat in salute. He literally can't hear any question that isn't praise. Sophia: That’s basically Instagram in a nutshell. A planet populated by one person, desperate for applause from anyone who passes by. It's funny, but also deeply lonely. Daniel: And it gets darker. He meets the Tippler, the alcoholic, who drinks to forget that he’s ashamed… of drinking. It’s this perfect, tragic loop of despair. And then the Businessman, who is my personal favorite. Sophia: Let me guess, he’s very busy with matters of consequence? Daniel: You got it. He’s counting the stars. He claims he owns them because he was the first one to think of it. He writes the number down on a piece of paper and locks it in a drawer. Sophia: Okay, but what does he do with them? What good is owning stars? Daniel: That's exactly what the Little Prince asks! "And what good does it do you to own the stars?" The businessman has no answer. The prince points out, "I own a flower, and I water it. I own three volcanoes, and I sweep them. It is of some use to my volcanoes, and it is of some use to my flower, that I own them. But you are of no use to the stars." Sophia: Oof. That is a devastating takedown of capitalism in one sentence. It’s not about possession; it’s about utility and care. But hold on, I have to ask. The book gets some criticism for this, doesn't it? This very sharp, almost simplistic division between wise, imaginative children and these one-dimensional, foolish adults. Is life really that black and white? Daniel: That's a very fair critique, and it's one that academics and readers have debated for decades. It is a simplistic dichotomy. But I think we have to remember the genre. Saint-Exupéry is writing a fable, an allegory. He’s using exaggeration to make a powerful point. These characters aren't meant to be realistic portraits; they are symbols of our worst tendencies when we lose sight of what’s essential. They are what we risk becoming if we only ever see the hat. Sophia: So they're warning signs. They're the ghosts of Christmas Future, showing us a lonely, meaningless existence obsessed with figures and titles. Daniel: Precisely. The book shows us this bleak, absurd universe of disconnected grown-ups to make us ask: is there another way to live? And that’s when the fox shows up.

Sophia: Okay, so after this parade of depressing grown-ups, the Little Prince is feeling pretty low. He’s just discovered a garden with five thousand roses that look just like his flower, and he’s crushed because he thought his rose was unique. Daniel: He’s devastated. He says, "I thought that I was rich, with a flower that was unique in all the world; and all I had was a common rose." He feels like his whole world was a lie. And in that moment of despair, he meets a fox. Sophia: And the fox delivers the most important message in the entire book. But it starts with a strange word: "tame." The fox says he can't play with the prince because he isn't tamed. What does that even mean? It sounds like breaking a horse. Daniel: The prince asks the same thing. And the fox’s answer is the key to everything. He says, "It means to establish ties." He explains that right now, the prince is just one of a hundred thousand little boys, and the fox is just one of a hundred thousand foxes. They are interchangeable. Sophia: They mean nothing to each other. Daniel: Exactly. But, the fox says, "If you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world." Taming isn't about domination; it's about creating uniqueness through relationship. Sophia: That’s beautiful. So it’s the process of making something, or someone, special to you. It’s not an inherent quality they have, but one you build together. How do you do it? Daniel: With patience and ritual. The fox gives very specific instructions. "You must be very patient. You will sit down at a little distance from me—like that—in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day." Sophia: It’s about building trust, slowly. And the ritual part is fascinating. The fox says if the prince comes at any old time, the fox will never know when to "dress his heart" for the occasion. But if he comes at the same time every day, say four o'clock, the fox can start being happy from three o'clock. Daniel: The anticipation becomes part of the joy! Rituals create meaning. They carve out sacred time from the ordinary. And through this process of taming, the prince finally understands his rose. The fox tells him to go back and look at the rose garden again. Sophia: And what does he see differently? Daniel: He sees that even though they look the same, they are empty. He tells the roses, "You are not at all like my rose... No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one." And then the fox gives him the secret. Sophia: "What is essential is invisible to the eye." Daniel: "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly." And then, the line that ties it all together: "It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important." Sophia: Wow. Wasted time. We think of wasting time as a bad thing, but here, it’s the very thing that creates value. The inefficient, illogical, time-consuming act of caring for something is what makes it priceless. It’s not about the rose's beauty or rarity; it’s about the relationship. Daniel: And the responsibility that comes with it. The fox’s final lesson is, "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose." The prince left his planet because the rose was vain and demanding, but now he understands that her "poor little stratagems" were her clumsy way of loving him. And he has a duty to her. Sophia: That’s a much heavier and more profound idea than you expect from a children's book. It’s not just about feeling good; it’s about obligation. Love is a responsibility. Daniel: It is. And for Saint-Exupéry, writing this as his world was collapsing, this idea of responsibility for our connections—for our roses—was everything. It was the only thing that could save us from becoming like the King or the Businessman, alone on our tiny, meaningless planets.

Sophia: So, when you put it all together, the book is a journey from seeing the world with the eyes to seeing it with the heart. Daniel: That’s it exactly. It first deconstructs the world of "matters of consequence"—the world of numbers, logic, and empty titles—and shows how hollow it is. Then, it offers a constructive path forward. It gives us a verb: to tame. It’s an action. Meaning isn’t a thing you find, like a treasure; it’s a thing you build, patiently, day by day, through the time you "waste" on others. Sophia: And it makes the ending so much more poignant. The narrator is left looking at the stars, wondering about this question that seems so small but is actually the most important question in the universe. Daniel: "Look at the sky. Ask yourselves: Is it yes or no? Has the sheep eaten the flower? And you will see how everything changes..." Sophia: Because if the sheep has eaten the flower, then all that time was for nothing. The responsibility was failed, the unique thing is gone, and the universe is a colder, emptier place. But if the sheep has not eaten the flower, then love and care mattered. The connection endures. Daniel: It’s a choice about what you believe is fundamentally true about the world. Is it a universe of random, meaningless events, or is it a universe where our fragile, "tamed" connections hold everything together? Sophia: That’s a question we all have to answer for ourselves, every day. For our listeners, I guess the question is: what is your rose? What is the thing—the person, the passion, the project—that you have "wasted" your time on, and in doing so, made it the most important thing in your world? Daniel: And are you protecting it from the sheep? It’s a beautiful, powerful idea to leave with. We encourage everyone to think about their own rose, and maybe share what it is with someone you’ve tamed. Sophia: A perfect thought to end on. Daniel: This is Aibrary, signing off.