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melaniereads's review against another edition
challenging
dark
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
booklarking's review against another edition
challenging
dark
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.25
This novel set against the backdrop of the author's experience is a meditation on death and dieing for one's country. It is set against the backdrop of a single reconnaissance flight in May 1940 and is as absorbing and mesmerising as it is disturbing.
agitaca's review against another edition
3.0
Es fanoju par to, kā Ekziperī raksta, bet šeit manai gaumei bija par daudz kara apātijas un Francijas patriotisma.
miss_jules's review against another edition
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.5
bobbo49's review against another edition
5.0
A beautiful, evocative memoir of the author's transformative experience as a pilot in the French air corps as France was being overun by the Germans in 1940. Not just another anti-war story, but a passionate and powerful description of one person's discovery of his connection to his fellow men, his country, and his civilization, recognizing the fragility of all life and the power within us to transcend the moment. I found the last part of the memoir, focused on the religious aspect of St. Exupery's experience, more difficult to relate to personally, but the book is nonetheless magical.
alex_ellermann's review against another edition
5.0
'Flight to Arras' numbers among the best books I've read this year.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (colloquially known as Saint-Ex), author of the astonishingly beautiful 'Wind, Sand and Stars' and 'Night Flight,' was an aviator and writer. He began his career in the French Air Force in the 1920s, went on to become a mail pilot in both the Sahara and the Andes, flew reconnaissance planes back in France during the German invasion of France in 1940, he escaped the Nazis. After 27 months of writing and speaking in North America, he returned to North Africa with an American military convoy. Once there, he flew a modified P-38 with the Free French Air Force in support of operations in and around the Mediterranean (overage for flight duties at the time, he petitioned for a waiver all the way to General Eisenhower). He met his end in 1944, disappearing while piloting a recon flight in preparation for the invasion of southern France. Saint-Ex was a legendary pilot, a respected and famous writer, and a hell of a guy.
Saint-Ex published 'Flight to Arras' in 1942, during his sojourn in the U.S. The novel reads like the memoir of one pilot's reconnaissance mission during the Nazi invasion of France, and it has all the action one might expect from a wartime novel. But that isn't what makes it special. What makes it special is Saint-Ex's beautiful prose (translated by Lewis Galantière) and his ruminations on duty, combat, France, fellowship, and the natures both of Man and Mankind. This is the kind of book that makes the reader feel s/he is in communion with its author, sharing his most deeply felt external and internal observations. For those of us fortunate enough to fly for a living, it's also the kind of book that makes us feel like we're right there in the cockpit with him, every detail impulse true to the intellectual and emotional cast of the professional aviator.
On a related note, this particular edition reminded me why I love print media. I checked this out on an interlibrary loan through my local public library, and was astounded to find that it was a first edition. The paper, with its uneven edging, was thick and luxurious to the touch. The volume smelled like an old book. I got the sense of a treasure, waiting patiently for me for nearly eighty years. When I opened it, Saint-Ex lived again through the communion of author and reader, transcending life and death to form the timeless intellectual and emotional bond that shines as the highest aspiration of art.
This isn't just a beautiful book. It's the kind of book that reminds us why we invented writing in the first place. It's a treasure.
Recommended for: aviators and aviation enthusiasts, WWII enthusiasts, avid readers of all sorts.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (colloquially known as Saint-Ex), author of the astonishingly beautiful 'Wind, Sand and Stars' and 'Night Flight,' was an aviator and writer. He began his career in the French Air Force in the 1920s, went on to become a mail pilot in both the Sahara and the Andes, flew reconnaissance planes back in France during the German invasion of France in 1940, he escaped the Nazis. After 27 months of writing and speaking in North America, he returned to North Africa with an American military convoy. Once there, he flew a modified P-38 with the Free French Air Force in support of operations in and around the Mediterranean (overage for flight duties at the time, he petitioned for a waiver all the way to General Eisenhower). He met his end in 1944, disappearing while piloting a recon flight in preparation for the invasion of southern France. Saint-Ex was a legendary pilot, a respected and famous writer, and a hell of a guy.
Saint-Ex published 'Flight to Arras' in 1942, during his sojourn in the U.S. The novel reads like the memoir of one pilot's reconnaissance mission during the Nazi invasion of France, and it has all the action one might expect from a wartime novel. But that isn't what makes it special. What makes it special is Saint-Ex's beautiful prose (translated by Lewis Galantière) and his ruminations on duty, combat, France, fellowship, and the natures both of Man and Mankind. This is the kind of book that makes the reader feel s/he is in communion with its author, sharing his most deeply felt external and internal observations. For those of us fortunate enough to fly for a living, it's also the kind of book that makes us feel like we're right there in the cockpit with him, every detail impulse true to the intellectual and emotional cast of the professional aviator.
On a related note, this particular edition reminded me why I love print media. I checked this out on an interlibrary loan through my local public library, and was astounded to find that it was a first edition. The paper, with its uneven edging, was thick and luxurious to the touch. The volume smelled like an old book. I got the sense of a treasure, waiting patiently for me for nearly eighty years. When I opened it, Saint-Ex lived again through the communion of author and reader, transcending life and death to form the timeless intellectual and emotional bond that shines as the highest aspiration of art.
This isn't just a beautiful book. It's the kind of book that reminds us why we invented writing in the first place. It's a treasure.
Recommended for: aviators and aviation enthusiasts, WWII enthusiasts, avid readers of all sorts.
romanticapricorn's review against another edition
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
romanticapricorn's review against another edition
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.25
rixx's review against another edition
3.0
Published in 1942, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry talks about his life, experience, thoughts and feelings about being a pilot in WWII, while on the defensive and with little hope of surviving. The novella follows one flight, and comments on both the flight itself (mechanically, strategically) and the war in general.
It's bleak. It's about death: Preparing for death, seeing friends die, seeing people die on a scale that the human brain cannot understand. It's about failure modes: A state collapsing in on itself, a mind clinging to protocol and habit. He mixes the visceral despair with lyrical observations of a pilot zoning out: "The density of aerial warfare? Grains of dust in a cathedral." (Take notes, sci-fi authors!)
And then, in the end, he lost me: After spending most of the book talking about the horrors and absurdity of war, he uses the elation at the completed flight to turn around into a praise of the sacrifice and principles involved. "Humanism has neglected the essential role of sacrifice", and all that.
Some more observations:
As always, it's disconcerting to read things written in the midst of a big event, particularly while the end is still uncertain. In 1942, things looked terrible for France, and I'm awed reading about it.
The translation uses the word "holocaust" in some places, and I'm not sure how well-chosen it is, given the publication date. "Ça sauve- rait notre mission d’être sacrifiée, une panne de laryngophone" is translated as "A speaking tube out of order would preserve us from the holocaust." (and another similar case), or "Nous nous sommes jetés dans l’incendie." as "[We] flung ourselves into the holocaust.". The translation is also off-by-two-chapters for some reason, but my French isn't good enough to figure out what happened there.
Lastly: when he talks about the absurdity of war, the missing material, the gears that refuse to mesh, the sheer scope of astonished terror, he reminds me of Vonnegut: "After nine months of war we had still not succeeded in persuading the industries concerned that aerial cannon and controls ought to be manufactured with regard to the climate of the upper altitudes in which they were employed.", or: "“Your death will have no effect at all. Defeat is inescapable. But it is proper that a defeat manifest itself by dead. There must be mourning. Your part is to play the dead.” “Very good, sir.”"
It's bleak. It's about death: Preparing for death, seeing friends die, seeing people die on a scale that the human brain cannot understand. It's about failure modes: A state collapsing in on itself, a mind clinging to protocol and habit. He mixes the visceral despair with lyrical observations of a pilot zoning out: "The density of aerial warfare? Grains of dust in a cathedral." (Take notes, sci-fi authors!)
And then, in the end, he lost me: After spending most of the book talking about the horrors and absurdity of war, he uses the elation at the completed flight to turn around into a praise of the sacrifice and principles involved. "Humanism has neglected the essential role of sacrifice", and all that.
Some more observations:
As always, it's disconcerting to read things written in the midst of a big event, particularly while the end is still uncertain. In 1942, things looked terrible for France, and I'm awed reading about it.
The translation uses the word "holocaust" in some places, and I'm not sure how well-chosen it is, given the publication date. "Ça sauve- rait notre mission d’être sacrifiée, une panne de laryngophone" is translated as "A speaking tube out of order would preserve us from the holocaust." (and another similar case), or "Nous nous sommes jetés dans l’incendie." as "[We] flung ourselves into the holocaust.". The translation is also off-by-two-chapters for some reason, but my French isn't good enough to figure out what happened there.
Lastly: when he talks about the absurdity of war, the missing material, the gears that refuse to mesh, the sheer scope of astonished terror, he reminds me of Vonnegut: "After nine months of war we had still not succeeded in persuading the industries concerned that aerial cannon and controls ought to be manufactured with regard to the climate of the upper altitudes in which they were employed.", or: "“Your death will have no effect at all. Defeat is inescapable. But it is proper that a defeat manifest itself by dead. There must be mourning. Your part is to play the dead.” “Very good, sir.”"