A recollection of the shattering days during World War II when, though the fall of France was imminent, a handful of French pilots continued to fight on against the Germans. Translated by Lewis Galantière.
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.
Pilote de Guerre = Flight to Arras, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Flight to Arras is a memoir by French author Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (Born: June 29, 1900, Lyon, France - Died: July 31, 1944, Mediterranean Sea) Written in 1942, it recounts his role in the French Air Force as pilot of a reconnaissance plane during the Battle of France in 1940.
The book condenses months of flights into a single terrifying mission over the town of Arras.
Saint-Exupéry was assigned to Reconnaissance Group II/33 flying the twin-engine Bloch MB.170.
At the start of the war there were only fifty reconnaissance crews, of which twenty-three were in his unit.
Within the first few days of the German invasion of France in May 1940, seventeen of the II/33 crews were sacrificed recklessly, he writes "like glasses of water thrown onto a forest fire".
عنوانهای چاپ شده در ایران: «خلبان جنگ»؛ «خلبان جنگی»؛ تاریخ نخستین خوانش سال 1971میلادی
عنوان: خلبان جنگ؛ نویسنده آنتوان دو سنت اگزوپری؛ مترجم اقدس یغمایی؛ تهران: امیرکبیر، کتابهای جیبی، 1349؛ در 251ص؛ چاپ دوم 1356؛ چاپ چهارم 1392؛ شابک 9789640013946؛ چاپ دیگر تهران، نیلوفر 1382؛ در 227ص؛ شابک 9644482225؛ چاپ چهارم 1392؛ چاپ دیگر علمی فرهنگی؛ سال 1394؛ در بیست و دو و 248ص؛ شابک 9786001216381؛ موضوع داستانهای جنگ از نویسندگان فرانسه - سده 20م
عنوان: خلبان جنگ؛ آنتوان دو سنت اگزوپری؛ برگردان از پرویز شهدی؛ تهران، نشر به سخن، 1393؛ در 200ص؛ شابک 9786009412631؛ چاپ دوم 1394؛ چاپ سوم 1395؛
عنوان: خلبان جنگی؛ نویسنده آنتوان دو سنت اگزوپری؛ مترجم سیدمهدی قریشی؛ ناظر ویراستار سیدابراهیم آخوندی؛ ویراستار نصیر پورعلی؛ تهران، نشر پشتیبان، 1396؛ در 323ص؛ شابک 9786008794332؛
کتاب «خلبان جنگ» یادمانهایی از نویسنده ی «فرانسوی» کتاب «شازده کوچولو»، «آنتوان دو سنتاگزوپری» است؛ ایشان این یادمانها را در سال1942میلادی بنگاشته اند، و در آنها به نقش خویش در نیروی هوایی «فرانسه»، به عنوان خلبان هواپیمای شناسایی در نبرد «فرانسه»، با «آلمان» در سال 1940میلادی، پرداخته اند؛ «آنتوان دو سنتاگزوپری» در این کتاب، تجربه ی ماهها پرواز خویشتن را، در شرح یک مأموریت هراسآور، بر فراز شهر «آراس (فرانسه)» بازگو میکنند؛ ایشان در گروه شناسایی، با هواپیمای دوموتوره ی «پوتز 630» خدمت میکردند؛ «فرانسه» در آغاز جنگ دوم، تنها پنجاه خلبان شناسایی داشت، که بیست و سه تن از آنها، در گروه ایشان بودند؛ در چند روز نخست از یورش «آلمان» به «فرانسه»، در ماه مه سال 1940میلادی، هفده تن از یگان ایشان (به نوشته خودش: «همانند لیوانهای آبی که بر آتش جنگل بریزند») جان خود را از دست دادند؛
آنتوان دوسنت اگزوپری، «شاعر پرنده»، در «لیون فرانسه» در سال 1900میلادی زاده شدند، و جهان نگارش را نور باران کردند، ایشان به عنوان یک خلبان بیست و شش ساله، پیشگام هواپیمایی تبلیغاتی بودند، و در «جنگ داخلی اسپانیا»، و «جنگ جهانی دوم» پرواز داشتند؛ نوشته های ایشان «شازده کوچولو»، «باد»، «شن و ستاره ها»، «پرواز شبانه»، «پست جنوبی» و «اودیسه خلبان» هستند، ایشان در سال 1944میلادی، در حین پرواز، و در یک ماموریت شناسایی برای «گروه هواپیمایی فرانسوی» خویش، بر فراز «مدیترانه» ناپدید، و باز هم «پرنس کوچولویی» شدند و پیش همان گل یگانه ی خویش ره بگشودند ؛ روانش هماره شاد
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 13/04/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی
I got interested in this book after it was mentioned in another book I recently read – Victoire by Roland Philipps. Up to then I had only heard of Saint-Exupéry as the author of The Little Prince.
In the early stages of WW2 Saint-Exupéry was a reconnaissance pilot with the French Air Force, in an aircraft that also carried an observer and a tail gunner. Undertaking missions on their own, these planes were easy targets for enemy fighters and had a horrifying casualty rate. The fighters come down on you like lightning. Having spotted you from fifteen hundred feet above you, they take their time. They weave, they orient themselves, take careful aim. You know nothing of this. You are the mouse lying in the shadow of the bird of prey. The mouse fancies that it is alive. It goes on frisking in the wheat. But already it is the prisoner of the retina of the hawk, glued tighter to that retina than to any glue, for the hawk will never leave it now.
This book is centred around a single mission in May 1940, when Saint-Exupéry was asked to fly a near-suicidal low-level sortie to photograph German Army positions around the town of Arras. By this time it was clear that French resistance to the invasion had all but collapsed. Saint-Exupéry initially regards his mission as an absurdity.
We knew perfectly well that they would never be able to make use of our intelligence—luckily. It might be brought back by us; but it would never be transmitted to the Staff. The roads would be jammed. The telephone lines would be cut. The Staff would have moved in a hurry. The really important intelligence—the enemy’s position—would have been furnished by the enemy himself.
Although the mission is described in detail, this is actually a deeply introspective and philosophical book, in which Saint-Exupéry considers the motivations of men in these extreme circumstances. Despite his private misgivings, he accepts his orders without demur.
And now once again, like every other soldier of the Group, I have taken off in the face of every good reason, every obvious argument, every intellectual reflex.
Saint-Exupéry survives this particular mission, although he was killed later in the war serving with the Free French Air Force. That fact lends even more poignancy to this account. This mission also has a profound effect on him, and after his return it crystallizes his philosophy.
This is without doubt the most unusual war memoir I’ve read. I found it quite compelling, and wondered throughout what conclusions Saint-Exupéry would eventually come to. It’s very short, 156 pages in the edition I read, although I personally had to read the last 20-30 pages slowly and carefully to try and follow Saint-Exupéry’s arguments. The very last paragraph was supremely eloquent.
خلبان جنگ کتابی ایست از آنتوان دوسنت اگزوپری ، نویسنده مشهور فرانسوی . او در این کتاب به نقش خود به عنوان خلبان هواپیمای شناسایی در تجاوز آلمان به فرانسه پرداخته . اگزوپری که به پرواز سخت علاقه داشته یکی از ماموریت های شناسایی خود بر فراز شهر آراس را در این کتاب شرح داده . گرچه نویسنده سخت نسبت به نازی ها خشمگین بوده ، اما او هم از مقامات دولت و ارتش فرانسه و شاید هم از فرانسویانی که گریخته و جاده ها را بسته و نظم کشور را مختل کردند و همین گونه هواپیمای کهنه ای که با آن پرواز می کند و ایرادات اساسی دارد هم سخت دلگیر و بر آشفته است . از نگاه او مقامات درک درستی از شرایط ندارند و تصمیماتی که می گیرند تنها به قربانی شدن بیشتر پرسنل نیروی هوایی می انجامد . او این گونه ماموریت رفتن را همانند خاموش کردن آتش سوزی جنگل با لیوان آب می داند . خلبان جنگ به دلیل عدم وضوح در ژانر و هدف نویسنده، اثری شاخص در ژانر ضد جنگ، رمان جنگی یا حتی خاطرات جنگی محسوب نمیشود. در حالی که میتوان رگههایی از هر یک از این ژانرها را در کتاب مشاهده کرد، اما هیچکدام به طور کامل ژانر کتاب را تعریف نمیکنند. همچنین هدف اگزوپری از نوشتن این کتاب کاملاً مشخص نیست. کتاب او میان فرستادن پیامی ضد جنگ و یا اشتراک تجربیات او از جنگ ، کاملا سرگردان مانده است .
In the final stages of the German invasion of France in 1940, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is sent out on a reconnaissance mission over occupied territory. It's almost certain suicide, and the information he might bring back will be of no use to anyone: the war is lost, nothing works anymore. But he accepts unhesitatingly. Somewhere over Arras, with anti-aircraft fire bracketing him on all sides, aware that he is probably a few seconds from death, he has a mystical insight. He is no longer afraid, he has done the right thing. By willingly offering his life, he is truly part of his little band of aviators, of the French military, of his country, of mankind. He knows with complete certainty that he could not have learned this lesson in any other way. Miraculously, he returns unscathed to base. He has been granted a couple more years to write this book and the much more famous Le petit prince. And he is, indeed, immortal. As long as our civilization endures, people will read him.
I wonder if there are people in Mariupol right now having similar experiences.
I had already read some of Saint-Exupéry's earlier works and was charmed by his typical combination of action and reflection: both ‘Vol de Nuit’ (1931Night Flight) and ‘Terre des Hommes’ (1939, Wind, Sand and Stars) offer unique insights into how modern man through machines ( in this case always airplanes) is confronted with the essence of existence. Still, those two works didn't really captivate me: they got a little stuck in non-committal reflections, even if they floated on the adrenaline of a man forced to the limit in the battle with the elements.
Of course, the intense experience this book, 'Pilote de Guerre' (1942, literally 'War pilote'), offers, is even more extreme. Because Saint-Exupéry here describes a hallucinatory reconnaissance mission over occupied France in May 1940. The author-pilot already knows at that moment that the war is lost for France, that his mission is pointless, and that he can only have a minimal chance to survive the low flight over the German positions around the city of Arras.
Well, this time I wàs captivated by the book. Perhaps this was because the author literally takes us inside the mind of the pilot de Saint-Exupéry who is trying to come to terms with the question of why France, himself and his crew are willingly being slaughtered. And here he does it again through a combination of action scenes (steering his reluctant machine, a dizzying journey across the German barrage, a real hell-flight), of observations (of his taciturn crew, of the refugee flows, the advancing German tanks, and the land and sky seen from high altitude) and of contemplation (thoughts of killed and wounded colleagues, childhood memories, and above all musings about existence, man, sacrifice, love…).
So, in itself these elements don't really diff from those in his previous novels, but Saint-Exupéry here presents it all a bit more sharply, more focused. Perhaps the intensity of this journey through hell is not alien to this. Or is it the cocktail of jest, resignation, cynicism, sarcasm and vitalism that does it? What is particularly striking is that the main character, the pilot de Saint-Exupéry, undergoes a remarkable, philosophical evolution during this death flight. Where in the beginning he still takes a rather idealistic point of view ("the real space does not exist for the eye, it is only given to the mind. And that space is worth as much as language is worth, because language connects things"), the near-death experience over Arras opens him to the view that it is the ‘substance’, the body, that makes all human experience possible ("I certainly do not want to downplay the intellect, nor the victories of consciousness. I admire clear thinkers. But what is a man without substance? A man who is a look but not a being?"). This turn is not just a fall into flat materialism, because Saint-Exupéry appears to regard man above all as a junction of relations, and thus also of the principles of solidarity, the collective and the universal, which enables him to forge a link with the sense of sacrifice. And that brings us back to the starting point: the explanation why France seems willinngly to undergo the defeat in May 1940.
Certainly at the end of this novel, de Saint-Exupéry does not shy away from big words, in an emphatically pronounced confession of faith that founds humanism on a new, non-religious basis. Those final pages may seem a bit solemn, after the action scenes that preceded. Perhaps that is why he wrote the disarmingly simple ‘Le Petit Prince' (1943, The Little Prince) shortly after this novel, only to disappear in circumstances that still have not been clarified. To me this 'Flight to Arras' is his real spiritual testament.
خلبان جنگ را مدتی پیش خواندم و همزمان که پیک جنوب را میخوانم ریویویی برای این کتاب هم نوشتم: نکته ای که درباره اگزوپری میتواند سبب گم گشتگی و دل زدگی شود,سبک خاص او در نوشتن است..جریان سیال ذهن است که ناگهان از قسمتی از کتاب مانند بازیگر ناخوانده ای به صحنه وارد میشود و تا اخرین پرده هم صحنه را ترک نمیکند,جملاتی بدون گوینده و مخاطب و مبتدا..در حقیقت داستان خاصی واقعا وجود ندارد و داستان لرزان اولیه قربانی "پیام"ی میشود که اگزوپری در تقلای رساندن ان است..تنها سیر افکار و حديت نفس نویسنده است که برای او اهمیت دارد و وفاداری به داستان درجه دوم اهمیت است...به طوری که خواننده کلافه را بارها به تکرار خواندن جملات وامیدارد, به امید اینکه بازیگر ناخوانده صحنه را ترک کند,که متاسفانه تا زمان پایین آمدن اخرین پرده,در میان بغض و غیظ تماشاگران کرنشی میکند و آنگاه روشنایی چراغ هایی که پایان نمایش رافریاد میزنند,چشم تماشاگر را میزند..
As a kid growing up in a safe suburb of a safe country at a safe time I really did not think about things all that much. I picked up and read this book because it was about flying and WW11 both topics I was fascinated by. But this book, while I have trouble remembering the specifics, let me know that people have an inner life that is complex and compelling. That one can be brave physically and spiritually. Saint-Exupery is thinking about why the hell he is on a near suicide mission with little prospect of success or really any point at all because his country is near collapse. He does not hate Germans. He does not think France is beyond reproach. But he does know that he must continue to fight because this is a larger war than one of nations. It has a moral dimension that demands that he and his country men can not shirk.
Mar��o foi um mau mês para leituras, com muito trabalho e pouco tempo livre. Este livro foi lido aos bochechos, e isso talvez tenha prejudicado a minha capacidade de o apreciar. As expectativas também saíram defraudadas, porque estava à espera de um relato factual de uma experiência de guerra, e encontrei principalmente reflexões filosóficas. Ou então é Saint-Exupéry que não é mesmo para mim. Sempre tive alguma dificuldade em entender o encanto generalizado pelo Principezinho...
نویسنده در این کتاب با استفاده از نشانه هایی که در سفر هوایی اش بر روی شهر آرا میبیند، به بیان مسائل انسانی از دیدگاه خودش میپردازد. کتاب بعضا خیلی انتزاعی میشد و مونولوگی شدید میشد و این برای من ملال آور بود.
Saint-Exupéry neemt je mee op zelfmoordmissie naar Arras. Een verkenningsopdracht in een oorlog die al verloren is. Vanuit zijn cockpit aanschouwt hij de strijd en het verstrijken van de tijd; soms helder, soms mistig.
Het hele boek is doordrongen van de ijle hoogtes waar de mannen in metalen blikken zich wagen. Waar de aangevoerde zuurstof brandt door de keel. Waar je soms indommelt. Waar je vingers en je bediening bevroren zijn.
De auteur brengt de blik van iemand die gaat sterven. En dan uiteindelijk toch is blijven leven om het te vertellen. Vivre, c'est naître lentement.
ایمان دارم که برتری "انسان" یگانه "برابری" و یگانه "آزادی" را که دارای معنایی باشد، پیریزی میکند. من به برابری حقوق "بشر" از خلال هر فرد ایمان دارم. ایمان دارم که "آزادی" همان آزادی عروج "انسان" است. برابری اینهمانی نیست. "آزادی"، تجلیل فرد به زیان "انسان" نیست. من با هرکه بخواهد آزادی "انسان" را به فرمان یک فرد - یا تودهای از افراد - درآورد، خواهم جنگید.
Late in May 1940, Saint-Exupéry, then a 40-year old fighter pilot in the decimated French air force, flew a suicide mission in a reconnaissance plane. Against all the odds the crew returns in one piece. But in the crucible above the northern French city of Arras, something happens. Saint-Ex returns as a changed man. His despondency and scepticism about the war effort had been sublimated into a deep understanding of his position in this conflict. The final chapters of the book take the form of a manifesto in which the author clarifies this stance.
The pivotal gesture is Saint-Exupéry's commitment to love. That commitment is understood as one's investment into 'a web of relationships that makes people grow'. (I am relying here on my own rendering of the author's very straightforward "un réseau de liens qui fait devenir", rather than Lewis Galantière's more flowery but less precise "a web woven of strands in which we are fulfilled". The 1986 English translation in the Harcourt edition is on the whole not recommended. The 2016 Dutch translation by Nele Ysebaert in the Van Oorschot edition is excellent). For me, this is a very rich and satisfying conception of love and one that is echoed by both ancient and contemporary traditions of wisdom.
This commitment to love is not the result of a rational decision but an existential(ist) leap. Saint-Ex rails against the excessive power of rationality ("l'intelligence") in our culture. It atrophies our 'substance', our creative potential. Rational analysis is unable to bring a future into being:
"What should we do? Perhaps this. Or something else. The future cannot be determined. But what should one be? That is the essential question, as only the spirit can fertilise the rational. The spirit renders intelligence pregnant with emergence, and only then will intelligence bring the new into being. What does a man have to do to build the very first ship? It's too hard to figure out in advance. The vessel may eventually emerge from thousands of contradictory trials. But what does that person have to be? Here I'm taking by the root the potential to bring to life something new. That person ought to be a soldier or a tradesman, whose longing for faraway lands will inspire the engineers and mobilise the workers to launch, one day, his ship." (my own translation)
Saint-Exupéry elaborates a range of evocative metaphors to summon the power of man's desire. From the cockpit of his reconnaissance plane, he witnesses how German armoured units percolate through French lines like water. They keep up the pressure against the wall of the adversary and progress only there where they meet no resistance. There are always gaps. The tanks always get through. A similar force imbues the seed of grain, or a tree. It will take time, but it always finds a way to blossom.
"Defeat ... Victory ... Words I do not know what to make of. One victory exalts, another corrupts. One defeat kills, another rouses. Life does not express itself in situations but in how you deal with them. The only victory I cannot doubt is the one that is lodged in the energy of the seed. Its victory is certain from the moment it is sowed into the black earth. But it takes time to witness the triumph of the power in the grain." (Galantière translation, with modifications)
Our civilisation has abdicated its ability to build cathedrals. Instead, we are content just renting out chairs under its lofty vaults. Humanism has led us astray. It has tried to rationalise our shared project into a set of rules, a codified set of ethical principles. But that is no surrogate for the commitment to love, for the deed, indeed the sacrifice that nourishes it and brings it into being. We do not invest ourselves anymore. We have turned into bean counters and lawyers.
"We ceased to give. Obviously, if I insist upon giving only to myself, I shall receive nothing. I shall be building nothing of which I am to form part, and therefore I shall be nothing." (Galantière translation)
This book resonated more than I expected. The narration of the suicide mission is spellbinding and not without literary merits. The concluding chapters may strike one as old-fashioned and quaint, but I personally am quite ready to buy into the author's foundational intuition that there is no higher purpose in life than to contribute, in one's own sphere of influence, to an environment where people, one's brothers and sisters, may find their purpose and flourish.
این کتاب سراسر حول فداکاری و انسان دوستی ونوع دوستی است. نویسنده که خود خلبان بوده است در خلال پروازهای شناسایی مربوط به جنگ دوم جهانی افکار خود را می نویسد او از آسمان دنیا را می بیند و اوایل کتاب با یک لحن ضد جنگ از وضعیت موجود انتقاد میکند. کم کم وقتی جلوتر می رویم حس فداکاری و انسان دوستی نویسنده نمایان می شود و وارد موضوعات فلسفی می شود او تقریبا از افکار فلسفی موجود انتقاد می کند و میگوید همانگونه که یک انسان باید برای یک انسان فداکاری کند یک جمع هم باید برای حتی یک انسان فداکاری کند او جمع گرایی و فردگرایی را ترکیب کرده و ترکیب آن را یک جامعه انسانی می داند.
جمع گرایی کمونیست و چپ ها و یا فرد گرایی مکتب اومانیست او با هشیاری توضیح میدهد که چرا هم فرد مهم است و هم جمع و به زیبایی هم توضیح می دهد. اصول اگزوپری در تمام زندگی فداکاری و عمل گرا بودن است و حیف که این نویسنده روشنفکر فرانسوی فقط 44 سال عمر میکند و این رمان هم 2 سال قبل از سقوط هواپیمایش نوشته شده با هم بخش های زیبایی از کتاب را بخوانیم که واقعا خواندنی است. و این کتاب اراده و شهامت و اعتماد به نفس را میتواند در دل انسان روشن کند.
بعد تولستوي لم أقرأ لكاتب مرهف الحس وشفاف لهذا الحد كما قرأت له سواء في رائعته أرض البشر أو الطريق إلى أوراس .. هذا الرجل نبيل بكل معنى الكلمة في هذا الكتاب يتضح نبله وفلسفته في الحياة وشعوره تجاه الحرب ومأسيها وما ممكن تفعله في الناس وفي القرى وفي المدن وكيف ممكن أن تقتل مئات السنين من البناء والصبر وتخنق ضوء الشمس .. الطريق إلى آراس هي جزء آخر من سيرة هذا الطيار الحربي كتبها أثناء الحرب العالمية الثانية حين كانت الطياراتالإستطلاعية تشارك في الحرب غير إنها تختص بمشاعره تجاه العمل العبثي الذي ي��وم به لذلك أخذ يسجل الخواطر التي تخطر له خلال رحلاته الإستطلاعية معبرا عن مآل الحروب والنهايات الحمقاء التي تنتهي بها وتجرها على كل الأطراف المشاركة وكيف أن الطيارون ما هم إلا وسائل في لعبة الحرب ، نبل هذا الإنسان يتضح في تقديمه الإعتذار تلو الآخر للحرية للأصدقاء للكرامة للإنسانية رؤيته الصادقة الخالية من أية تحيزات تظهر كم إن هذا الإنسان هو إنسان حقيقي .. أحببت شفافية أكزوبيري رقته وحبه لأخيه الإنسان .. الترجمة ليست ممتازة لكن لا بأس بها لحد ما وقد اسقطت النجمة بسببها
در زمان صلح همه چیز سر جای خودش است. در دهکده، غروب ها روستاییان به خانه هاشان برمیگردند. غله ها درون انبارها جا داده می شوند و ملافه های خشک و تاشده را در گنجه ها می چینند. در دوران صلح آدم می داند هرچیز جایش کجاست. می داند هر دوست را کجا پیدا کند و پیشش برود. همچنین می داند شب کجا باید بخوابد. آه، موقعی که شیرازه از هم می پاشد، هنگامی که آدم هیچ جایی در دنیا ندارد که برود، دیگر نمی داندکسانی را که دوست شان دارد کجا سراغ شان را بگیرد. وقتی شوهری که به دریا رفته دیگر باز نمی گردد، آن وقت است که صلح می میرد...
I have to admitt, I couldn't wait to finish reading this book. Although the concept of this book is interested, the author and main character lost my interested when he started trailing off.
Flight to Arras is about a pilot, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, and his crew on a single reconnaissance mission durning WWII. He writes about a young soldiers thoughts about receiving a mission from his caption knowing that he and his crew will not survive and accepting this mission knowing his fate.
Sounds good? Indeed it does, durning this mission he questions not only this very mission he is on, but his faith, the responsibility of man, the origin of man, and ultimately God himself.
However, the author goes a little overboard with his inner-thoughts and really loses the reader. At least it did me.
Mais um livro maravilhoso de Saint Exupéry. Tal como o anterior refere-se as suas experiências como piloto.
Cada vez admiro o escritor de " O principezinho " e vejo que ele deve se conhecido também pelas suas obras biográfico. Pois foi um homem muito viajado e que viveu muitas aventuras
Turėjau sumanymą: juk de Saint-Exupery knyga, bus labai įdomi, čia viską labai greitai perskaitysiu, bet gavosi šnipštas. Nu neįdomi ir viskas, niekur neužkabino. Skaitai, perskaitai ir užmiršti.
This is such a great book. It is the one I would take with me if I were going off to war or facing certain death. Autobiographical, describes 24 hours in the life of Fighter Pilot Antoine de Saint Exupéry in France in 1940-all his thoughts, memories and feelings before, during and after flying a suicide mission. The theme is "All for One and One for All" and The Brotherhood of Soldiers. Who should read it: Fans of The Little Prince and those interested in WWII and Aviation. Belongs on a shelf next to Man's Search for Meaning and The Consolation of Philosophy and American Sniper.
Why only 4 stars? I loved the narrative but Philosophical Discourse is very hard for me to understand and makes my head hurt.
The whole time I read this, I thought about his death, shot down on a mission 1944, which makes this story very poignant.
Een boek dat open bloeit als een krokus op een februariochtend. 70 jaar oud, maar het bulkt nog van relevantie.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry - ja, die kent u van het bloedmooie "De kleine prins" - was naast journalist en auteur ook piloot en actief bij de Franse luchtmacht in de Tweede Wereldoorlog.
In Oorlogsvlieger is de rode draad een verkenningsvlucht boven vijandelijke stelling die moet uitgevoerd worden. De oorlog is op dat moment voor de Fransen al zo goed als een verloren zaak waardoor de vlucht niet alleen zo goed als zelfmoord lijkt, maar ook nog eens compleet zinloos is. Wat van dit boek een pareltje maakt, is dat de auteur het verloop van de vlucht als kapstok gebruikt om de twijfels, visie en gedachtes van de soldaat/piloot/mens uit te werken en weer te geven.
Daar komt de kracht van zijn schrijverschap en nog meer van zijn denken naar voren. Tijdens de vlucht probeert de Saint-Exupéry zichzelf een plaats in het geheel te geven. Hij ontdekt dat de angst bij de verwachting hoort, want eens hij zijn opdracht aan het uitvoeren is, handelt hij efficiënt, doelgericht en is er voor de angst geen ruimte meer. Als hij met zijn boordschutter en navigator dan toch levend lijkt terug te keren uit de beschietingen met luchtafweer en ontmoeting met vijandige jagers, vallen bij de piloot/auteur de schellen van de ogen. Op heldere en uitmuntende wijze geeft de Saint-Exupéry zijn plaats in het geheel mee en schrijft hij een filosofisch betoog over de rol en verantwoordelijkheid van het individu in het geheel (de samenleving) maar evenzeer over de verplichtingen van die samenleving ten opzichte van dat individu heeft en waarom dat dreigt mis te lopen. Het draait er om dat we ons gelijk moeten kunnen voelen in iets dat ons overstijgt. Het is zinloos dat ik dat probeer te verhelderen, maar wat dacht je van:
"De aanhangers van de nieuwe godsdienst zulle er niet mee akkoord gaan dat een aantal mijnwerkers voor de redding van één enkele bedolven mijnwerker het leven waagt. (...) Het welzijn van de Gemeenschap bekijken ze in getallen - en de getallen zullen hen beheersen. Op die manier zullen ze het vermogen verliezen zichzelf te overstijgen. En daardoor zullen ze verafschuwen wat van hen verschilt, omdat ze niets hebben, boven het ik uit, om mee samen te vallen. Iedere gewoonte, ieder ras, iedere denkwijze die hun vreemd is, zullen ze onvermijdelijk als krenkend zien."
of
"Ik geloof dat de cultus van het Universele de particuliere rijkdommen verheft en verbindt - en de enige mogelijke orde gestalte geeft, namelijk die van het leven. In een boom heerst orde, ondanks de wortels die verschillen van de takken."
en zo zou ik er nog ettelijke kunnen noteren. Goed gedaan, Antoine.
Confronterend ook dit boek te lezen met in het achterhoofd de wetenschap dat de Saint-Exupéry van een soortgelijke vlucht - boven Duitsland als voorbereiding op het eindoffensief van de geallieerden - op 31 juli 1944 nooit meer terugkeerde.
This book was a 3 star read that slowly but surely progressed to a 5 star read. I feel bad that it took me so long to actually appreciate it in its full glory, but I guess that’s just how it is with some books. They take time to sink in. Now, since I like to think I’m actually cool because I read the same book twice in two different languages, here is what I like most from the English translation;
**Disclaimer; This is not a review of the book per se but rather quotes I really liked. Not all of them require context but for some, the context is important so if they look like random passages – that is the reason behind it. **Warning; Spoilers ahead.
Flight to Arras – Antoine De Saint-Exupéry Chapter XII, page 60; “I have aged so much that all that was is left behind me.”
Chapter XIII, page 79; “What could the men who governed us know of the war?”
Chapter XV, page 88; “Life always bursts the boundaries of formulas. Defeat may prove to have been the only path to resurrection, despite its ugliness. I take it for granted that to create a tree I condemn a seed to rot.”
Chapter XVI, page 89; “After all, it is we ourselves who call this a funny war. Why not? I should image that no one would deny us the right to call it that if we please, since it is we who are sacrificing ourselves, not those who think our epithet immoral. Surely I have the right to joke about my death if joking about it gives me pleasure.”
Chapter XVII; Throughout the whole chapter he talks to Paula, bouncing between his internal monologue directed at her and the current happenings as they fly to Arras. The whole chapter breaks my heart every time I read it. It is both absolutely beautiful and sickeningly saddening. Masterfully crafted and I believe that this was one of the more influential things in the book that made me change my mind about my initial rating.
Chapter XXIII, page 135; “The kind of truth advanced in verbal bickerings can no longer satisfy me.”
Chapter XXIII, page 151; “When I took off for Arras I asked before giving. My demand was in vain. We must give before we can receive, and build before we may inhabit. By my gift of blood over Arras I created the love that I feel for my kind as the mother creates the breast by the gift of her milk. Therein resides the mystery. To create love, we must begin by sacrifice. Afterwards, love will demand further sacrifices and ensure us every victory. But it is we who must take the first step. We must be born before we can exist.”
Ах, да, мојот чатал нема граници. Ова се белешките и цитатите што ми оставија впечаток од македонската верзија. Искрено, преводот беше ТОЛКУ добар што мислам да можев цела книга ќе ја цитирав. Затоа уствари имам толку повеќе напишано тука. **Предупредување; И тука има spoilers.
Воен Пилот – Антоан Де Сент Егзипери ** Го отелотворува концептот на занесот при војна, како чувства се нешто за кое нема време од сета лавина од проблеми а и воедно од самиот тој “занес“ се менува и концептот на нештата. Во смисла на, толку си вдаден во размислувањата за воени стратегии и обврски што човечкиот дел од себе се замаглува. Не се веќе луѓе туку збир од нешта. Едно нешто што во суштина си го разложил на повеќе нешта прави полесно да е “справувањето“ со него и што и да му се случи. Го отуѓуваш од чувствата и од комплексноста што ја има. Не е човечко и чувствително туку предметно.
„Во општата збрканост на поставените проблеми, во општото пропаѓање, ние сме и самите поделени на парчиња. Оној глас. Оној нос. Онаа навика. А парчињата не возбудуваат.“ (страна 21) Признавајќи дека и тој мисли само на детали а не на големата слика – прави токму совршена транзиција на реченицата. Во пасус во кој детално се објаснува за тоа како сè е хаос ама никој не го гледа, објективната анализа на сериозниот проблем е прекината од прашањето ‘каде се неговите проклети ракавици?’
**Го има доловено моментот кога телото/мозокот си бара shut down од премногу анксиозност и исчекување. Фантазира за полесно заминување – како на пример да се расипе нешто во авионот за поскоро да умрат. Буквално си бара излез од агонијата на неизвесноста.
Страна 38, 39; „Треба... треба... би сакал сепак да ми се исплати навреме. Би сакал да имам право на љубовта. Би сакал да знам за кого ум��ра��...“ Ако ова не те прави да се осеќаш понизно и како твоите проблеми и опкружувања да се благи и подносливи – не знам што.
Страна 48; „Се фрлаа онака, на среќа, мостови преку бездна, како што би постапиле кога би сакале да навлеземе во мракот на глувонем слепец на кој би сакале да му помогнеме.“
Страна 54; „Недостапни како некоја убава жена, ние ја следиме својата судбина влечејќи го полека нашиот фустан чијшто опаш е исткаен од ледени ѕвездички.“
Страна 54; „Еве ја стварноста. Но јас се враќам кон мојата евтина поезија. Овој вираж ќе предизвика вираж на цело едно небо од несреќни љубовници.“
Цела глава XI. Цела. „Телото е твое ама не е.“ (страна 56, 57, 58, 59)
Страна 64; „Срцето е многу нежна работа. А треба да служи долго време. Бесмислено е да го изл��жуваме на опасност поради вакви груби работи. Тоа е како да сакаме да запалиме дијаманти за да свариме еден компир.“
Страна 77; „Колку вредиме ние кога ќе станеме еднаш неподвижни?“
Страна 93; „Ви давам седум букви. Тоа се седум букви од Библијата. Составете ја со нив повторно Библијата.“
Страна 101; „Што има срамно во тоа да се има земја која дава повеќе жито одошто машини? Зошто срамот да падне врз нас а не врз сиот свет?“
Страна 109; „Чудно е како животот одеднаш се собрал. Го стокмив мојот багаж од спомени. Никогаш тој нема да служи за нешто. Ниту пак за некој.“
Страните 110, 111, 112 и 113 цели. Кога ѝ збори на Паула. Никогаш нема да прекине да ми биде тажно.
Цела глава XXII.
Страна 142; „Ноќта ги лулка во вечноста. Кога иде времето за вечера, групата ги брои своите мртви. Оние што исчезнале стануваат поубави во сеќевањето. Нив секогаш ги облекуваме во нивната насветла насмевка.“
Страна 142; „Некогаш многу малку ги ценев возрасните. Грешев. Човек никогаш не старее.“
Страна 146; „Единствената победа во која не можам да се сомневам е победата што се крие во силата на зрното. Фрлете го зрното ширум црната земја и тоа ќе стане победник. Но треба да измине прилично време за да го видиме неговиот триумф во зрелото жито.“
**Зборови што ми напраија кејф; адути=доблести, окно, жедувам = to thirst for, клатно = pendulum, безредие, „не се беспокојам“, самољубие, оживотворува, овенчан = со венец на глава. Цела книга во два збора; Sad and humbling.
Nhặt được cậu chàng này trong một tiệm sách cũ gần xịch nhà, dưới cái tên tiếng Việt "Phi công thời chiến" do Trần Trọng Thảo... phỏng dịch. Mình là người hơi bi quan, ý là mình không tin có chuyện gần chỗ mình có một tiệm sách cũ mà lại bán sách mình thích được, bỏ công đi lùng ở phố sách cũ mà toàn thấy ngôn tình rồi diễm tình rồi giáo trình nữa là, còn sách hay thì toàn sách cũ mèm và giá ở trên trời. Nhưng, không hề, ở trong tiệm sách này, mình kiếm được những cuốn thực sự hay đã xuất bản từ cách đây mười năm là ít của Saint Exupéry, Charles Dicken, Clézio, ... Cái mình mến ở những cuốn sách cũ là giọng dịch, quá hay, vừa trong trẻo (không bị nhiễm quá nhiều Hán Việt) lại vừa có chất cổ xưa đặc biệt. Mình phải lòng cuốn sách này ngay từ những trang đầu tiên. Cuốn sách này của bác Saint viết về cảm xúc của bác ngay từ ngày đầu tiên bị bứt khỏi ghế nhà trường và được đặt lên một chiếc phi cơ chiến đấu, bay thẳng lên bầu trời vì... chiến tranh. Tác giả bắt đầu bằng cảm xúc bàng hoàng, nhưng rất nhanh sau đó là bất lực và bi quan cùng cực. Cuốn sách này có những đoạn phê phán chiến tranh cực kỳ hay, đáng để in lên các băng rôn phản chiến và đem đến vùng Trung Đông. ... Đấy, đấy là lược đồ của chiến trang. Là hình màu của chiến tranh. Và mỗi người đều cố gắng làm cho chiến tranh giống hệt chiến tranh. Thật thành kính. Ai nấy đều cố gắng giữ đúng luật. Do đó, chiến tranh này phải giống hệt một cuộc chiến tranh". ... Muốn đổi trò chơi sấp ngửa thành cuộc phiêu lưu, ta đặt vào đó sự sống chết chưa đủ. Chiến tranh không phải là cuộc phiêu lưu. Chiến tranh là cơn bệnh. Như bệnh đậu lào". ... Vì những thớ thịt cấu tọa chiến tranh không có hình thù. Vì phát đạn anh vừa bắn ra là một đứa bé ngã gục. Vì nơi hò hẹn để đánh nhau, các anh chỉ tìm thấy đàn bà đang đẻ. Vì mọi mưu toan trao đổi tin tức hoặc nhận lệnh đều tuyệt vọng cũng như nói chuyện với bức tường. Không còn quân đội. Chỉ có con người". ... "Cuộc chiến khôi hài". Và tương tự như Bên kia sông Đuống hay bất kỳ tác phẩm nào viết về chiến tranh, những đoạn sâu sắc và đẹp nhất vẫn là những đoạn hồi tưởng về sự tươi đẹp của đất nước làng mạc trước khi xảy ra chiến tranh hay những nguyện ước bé bỏng nhưng da diết của mỗi cá nhân trong chiến tranh. Có lẽ trước và sau chiến tranh, người ta có điều kiện để suy tư quá nhiều về những điều mình được và mất với chiến tranh, nhưng ngay trong lòng chiến tranh, con người chỉ dám suy nghĩ, hít, thở, cảm nhận cho từng giây mình còn đang sống. Mình cảm thấy bản thân thực sự rất may mắn khi gặp một cuốn sách viết về chiến tranh mà tác giả không viết nhiều về máu me, chết chóc như cuốn sách này :*
Short autobiographical novel by the author of “The Little Prince”, set during (and published only 2 years after) his service as a reconnaissance pilot for the French during the 1940 German invasion which service the majority of his fellow flyers did not survive. The book’s action takes place on a single reconnaissance mission low over the occupied town of Arras to gather intelligence which due to the breakdown of the French infrastructure will and can never be used. While flying and even under heavy attack (an apparent habit that the author had of losing concentration at the controls of the plane) the narrator muses philosophically on the reason for the mission (given its seeming futility), the French war effort and then the reasons for war. After escaping what seemed certain death he is overtaken by a form of euphoria and a renewed believe in the importance of community (both of France and of the squadron).
After landing meditates at some length on how France is based on a humanist development of Christianity – substituting the ideal of Man for God in areas such as equality, respect, charity, self-respect, brotherhood and most importantly sacrifice – but that the abstractness of Man meant the ideal (although to be believed in) was easily corrupted into anarchism, tyranny of the masses or the fascist state. This last section is well written and well expressed albeit it doesn’t sit so well with the first part of the novel and can seem overblown rhetoric.
The value of the book is in its immediacy and also importance – forming an immediate examination of the French defeat (well before the final outcome was known) and it seems being very important in restoring respect for France both internally and externally (including swaying American public opinion – where the book was written – behind intervention in the European war).
Varmaan filosofisin kirja jonka olen koskaan lukenut. Ajattelin alkuun tämän kertovan vain sotalennoista, en pohdiskelevan toivoa, kulttuuria ja Jumalaa. Jos kirja olisi vain koostunut pommeista ja mitä tapahtui, olisi pituus ollu varmaankin 20 sivua. Muttei tämä tylsä ollut, kaikkea muuta. Lopussa keskittyminen kylläkin häiriintyi ja hirveä filosofinen pohdintapätkä meni osittain ohi.
Jos vain yhtään toinen maailmansota kiinnostaa, lukekaa tämä. Aivan mahtava kirja ja toi sodan aivan eri tavalla esille kuin historian tunneilla.
Näin asiaan liittymättä mainittiin Suomikin kahdesti kirjassa, joka todellakin ihmetytti. Oli varmaan viimeinen asia mitä tältä kirjalta odotin.
A meditation on war, peace, purpose and the meaning of community and sacrifice. An ethereal, daydream infused wander, or rather flight, into no man's land. A beautifully visualised, poetically rendered take of a man's attempt to define or possibly redefine what it is we mean to communicate when we contemplate and discuss a life well lived. In this novel, Antoine discusses time in a plane, the lack of movement or the nearly unreal nature of these flights. He discusses the need for soldier's to 'play the game', and do as they are ordered to do, because war occurs and functions according to certain rules and certain roles and to do otherwise, is to invite true chaos. The book oscillates between Saint-Exupery reminiscing about his youth and a revisiting of defining moments and people in his life and the mission. The last chapter is a truly deep dive into Saint-Exupery coming to terms with 'modern' society and a renewed definition of death, Man and Man's obligation to one another. The last 20 pages are particularly enlightening. While the narrative structure does suffer towards the end, the return flight being a rushed jarring one as Saint-Exupery essentially jumps in time to being back on the base. The rest of the novel rushes forward much like a war drum beating to the beat of his dreams. A truly wonderful read and one which should please fans of philosophy and the little prince alike.
"Minha civilização, herdeira de Deus, fez cada um responsável por todos os homens e todos os homens responsáveis por cada um. Um indivíduo deve se sacrificar pela salvação de uma coletividade, mas não se trata aqui de uma aritmética imbecil. Trata-se do respeito do Homem através do indivíduo. A grandeza, com efeito, de minha civilização, é que cem mineiros devem arriscar suas vidas pelo salvamento de um só mineiro soterrado. Eles salvam o Homem".
“To live is to be slowly born. It would be a bit too easy if we could go about borrowing ready-made souls.”
Saint-Exupery truly has a way with prose. It astonishes me at times how he manages to encapsulate the debilitating feeling of the hopelessness of a suicide mission into words–truly genius. I find his prose so enticing, so captivating and entertaining to read my eyes through. He manages to create this world which I feel I am living in with him. His brilliance is most emphatically conveyed through his metaphors; some of my favorites include his description of the German destruction of France as ““the secrete gnawing of bacteria”, how “time has ceased to be a stream that feeds me, nourishes me, adds growth to me as to a tree”, and “thus perhaps shall I see what it is in that dark village that we must die to protect—that which is unseen, yet like an ember beneath the ashes, lives on.”
There’s a certain level of philosophy that Saint-Exupery recounts his experiences with; one with which left a profound and indelible mark on my view on how one goes about his life. Whether it be with a clear and distinct (although not always visible) goal – as Saint-Exupery describes it– or with simple faith in all that is good. Saint-Exupery describes and explores these concepts with such intensity as he contextualizes his experiences to his meditations on death, beauty, childhood, among many other aspects that dictate one’s life.
“We are alive.” “Well, yes. For the time being.” For the time being. There was still Arras.”
While airborne, he will relive his childhood memories, pay homage to the governess who shaped his youth, and engage in contemplation concerning the intricacies of the soul, the essence of France (and patriotism as a concept), and the divine presence of God. Above all, him, Dutertre, and Gunner, among his other companions of Group 2-33 will confront the force of destiny when they reach the flames of Arras.
One thing I will say about this work, however, is that there is an incomprehensive aspect to it if you hold a lack of knowledge in regards to things like WW2 and the impact of German occupation on the French. Additionally, at times his descriptions can be slightly repetitive and make it easy to lose yourself within them. He does, though, cleverly make use of these descriptions to describe the chaos of war and the moments leading up to ones demise.
“Man imagines that it is death he fears; but what he fears is the unforeseen, the explosion. What man fears is himself, not death. There is no death when you meet death. When the body sinks into death, the essence of man is revealed.”
I really enjoyed his meditations on death and what it means to live. His philosophy is like a breath of fresh air in comparison to the other philosophical texts I have read. He describes it in a way that is experienceable. You feel the philosophy he is describing rather than just understanding it at a surface level in the way you would by just reading over the lines of any other philosophical text. Again, his prose and literary mastery are truly unmatched, it's rare that I can read a book about war with this much attentiveness and at this speed with little distraction. I am truly in awe of Saint-Exupery and I can’t wait to explore more of his works.
'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.
When chance awakens love, everything takes it place in a man in obedience to that love, and love brings him the sense of distance. When, in the Sahara, the Arabs would surge up in the night round our campfires and warn us of a coming danger, the desert would spring to life for us and take on meaning. Those messengers had lent it distance. Music does something like this. The humble odor of an old cupboard does it when it awakens and brings memories to life. Pathos is the sense of distance.
But I know that nothing which truly concerns man is calculable, weighable, measurable. True distance is not the concern of the eye; it is granted only to the spirit. Its value is the value of language, for it is language which binds things together.
And now it seems to me that I begin to see what a civilization is. A civilization is a heritage of beliefs, customs, and knowledge slowly accumulated in the course of centuries, elements difficult at times to justify by logic, but justifying themselves as paths when they lead somewhere, since they open up for man his inner distance.
There is cheap literature that speaks to us of the need of escape. It is true that when we travel we are in search of distance. But distance is not to be found. It melts away. And escape has never led anywhere.