In his first novel, Saint-Exupéry pays homage to “those elemental divinities—night, day, mountain, sea, and storm,” turning an account of a routine mail flight from France to North Africa into an epic rendering of the pioneer days of commercial aviation. The book is also a poignant reminiscence of a tragic affair, in which the uncertainties of love and flight enhance the mystery of one another. Translated by Curtis Cate.
People best know French writer and aviator Antoine de Saint-Exupéry for his fairy tale The Little Prince (1943).
He flew for the first time at the age of 12 years in 1912 at the Ambérieu airfield and then determined to a pilot. Even after moving to a school in Switzerland and spending summer vacations at the château of the family at Saint-Maurice-de-Rémens in east, he kept that ambition. He repeatedly uses the house at Saint-Maurice.
Later, in Paris, he failed the entrance exams for the naval academy and instead enrolled at the prestigious l'Ecole des Beaux-Arts. In 1921, Saint-Exupéry, stationed in Strasbourg, began serving in the military. He learned and forever settled his career path as a pilot. After leaving the service in 1923, Saint-Exupéry worked in several professions but in 1926 went back and signed as a pilot for Aéropostale, a private airline that from Toulouse flew mail to Dakar, Senegal. In 1927, Saint-Exupéry accepted the position of airfield chief for Cape Juby in southern Morocco and began his first book, a memoir, called Southern Mail and published in 1929.
He then moved briefly to Buenos Aires to oversee the establishment of an Argentinean mail service, returned to Paris in 1931, and then published Night Flight, which won instant success and the prestigious Prix Femina. Always daring Saint-Exupéry tried from Paris in 1935 to break the speed record for flying to Saigon. Unfortunately, his plane crashed in the Libyan Desert, and he and his copilot trudged through the sand for three days to find help. In 1938, a second plane crash at that time, as he tried to fly between city of New York and Tierra del Fuego, Argentina, seriously injured him. The crash resulted in a long convalescence in New York.
He published Wind, Sand and Stars, next novel, in 1939. This great success won the grand prize for novel of the academy and the national book award in the United States. Saint-Exupéry flew reconnaissance missions at the beginning of the Second World War but went to New York to ask the United States for help when the Germans occupied his country. He drew on his wartime experiences to publish Flight to Arras and Letter to a Hostage in 1942.
Later in 1943, Saint-Exupéry rejoined his air squadron in northern Africa. From earlier plane crashes, Saint-Exupéry still suffered physically, and people forbade him to fly, but he insisted on a mission. From Borgo, Corsica, on 31 July 1944, he set to overfly occupied region. He never returned.
The prose has moments of poetic insight. The plot is fairly simple and the French vocabulary isn't too demanding, aside from various aeronautic terms. And it's short. On the other hand, the narrative structure is confused by vague pronouns, a mysterious "we" that is never defined, and disorienting jumps in context and point of view.
Published in 1929, it was the first major work by the author of "le petit prince." You will find similar themes between the two works, for example airplanes, the desert, and philosophical dialogue. It's fun to follow the route on a map, keeping in mind that some of the city names have changed.
de Saint-Exupery's first novel, "Southern Mail" written in 1929, is a brilliant first novel. I was amazed by his descriptions of flight and his tragic romance with "Genevieve". Since this was first published in France, it was a little racier than most American novels. The sex scene (in a brothel!) was amazing for it's graphicness and yet, it was painted like a picture. The dichotomy of his obsessive love, which in reality was brutal and tragic, pitted against the wonder and peace he feels after having it off with a hooker, makes way for a lone-wolf. He is happiest when taking off, aeroplane full of mail, flying over the desert and then touching down, maybe for a drink, a smoke, or a quickie.
I loved being able to read this in it's original type face, and marveled at Eclipsys's he used, a single * instead of the normal *** to separate passages. This first novel shows the genius in the making. I don't want it to end, I want to live in this novel. It's warm and comforting to me, like an old flight jacket...
Tựa tiếng Việt là Chuyến thư miền Nam, NN vừa phát hành. Mình vẫn mê những câu văn rất tình của tác giả Hoàng tử bé. Bản dịch cũng khá mượt dù đã có cách đây nửa thế kỉ. (review đàng hoàng viết sau vậy)
C'est peut-être le tout premier roman de Saint Exupéry, mais on retrouve toute la sensibilité de l'auteur pour écrire un roman aussi poétique. On retrouve bien évidemment aussi son amour pour l'aviation et on est ainsi projeté à la place de ce pilote qui traverse l'Afrique et les nuages pour délivrer le courrier. Tout est précisé avec rigueur, et le contraste entre réalité et poésie est surprenant. L'histoire d'amour qui survient dans certains chapitres reste très énigmatique et l'on cherche à en apprendre plus sur la vie du protagoniste Bernis, dans laquelle Saint-Exupéry y a rajouté un peu de sa vie à lui. Ce roman annonce les prémisses de ceux qui suivront, notamment Le Petit Prince. Sa plume est remplie de subtilité et nous nous évadons dans son monde en un rien de temps.
well, I was surprised to discover that this is a novel. I mean, I'd read a good 20 pages or so before I figured out it had an invented plot and invented characters, and the delay in discovery wasn't my fault (I mean, on account of my faulty French)--so much of the opening describes the daily (nightly) routine of the "Southern Mail" of the title that the narrator takes some time to get around to introducing the characters. The sad, sordid relationship in the middle of the book, the "meat" of the novel, is the weakest part--it rings the least true, and you feel that the author is much more at home among the sand and stars of the Sahara than in the salons and parks of Paris.
Still, the writing is dreamy and beautiful, as ever, and the descriptions of piloting small planes back and forth across the Mediterranean in the 1920s makes jaw-dropping good reading.