Wind, Sand, and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Recipient of the Grand Prix of the Académie Française, Wind, Sand and Stars captures the grandeur, danger, and isolation of flight. Its exciting account of air adventure, combined with lyrical prose and the spirit of a philosopher, makes it one of the most popular works ever written about flying. Translated by Lewis Galantière.

Why I Picked It Up

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I first picked up Wind, Sand, and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry after attending a friend's wedding outside of Paris. At the reception, after hours of dining and dancing and listening to them re-affirm their vows in English and French (each in the opposite native language) on the back steps, the father of the bride read a quote from the memoir that struck me. It was especially resonant since the groom is a pilot, and the couple met on a flight between London and Paris.

“Experience teaches us that to love is not to gaze at one another but to gaze together in the same direction.”

I thought that was such a lovely sentiment about partnership, and similarly reflected the role of awe: to make you both connected to that around you, and small in the face of the greater pattern—a balance of empowerment and humility that's worth seeking.

I'd also been thinking about The Little Prince lately, maybe because a character was rereading it in Magnolia Parks and because I've been on a mission lately to reread classics I connected to in my school years (like The Count of Monte Cristo, which I revisited this past September.)

This year, I've also largely made my ambitions to be a travel writer real, so have been exploring more than ever. I muscled my way up to a lot of dreams, and now watch them unfurl. So I checked it out from the library.

First Impressions of Nature and Purpose

The memoir focuses on Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's experiences as a pilot during wartime, and his camaraderie with his fellow men. They're bonded by hardships, by survival instincts, and by the tragedies—and occasional victories—stitching them together when someone disappears over an expanse of wilderness or successfully stumbles back into town. So first, there's that element of resilience and life-or-death strength.

“He knows that once men are caught up in an event they cease to be afraid. Only the unknown frightens men. But once a man has faced the unknown, that terror becomes the known.”

“Men who have given their lives to labors of love go straight to my heart.”

Within the cockpit, he reflects on his connection to the plane and to nature. Those are the moments in which I loved the book the most: the single-minded pursuit of the experience (flow state, dare I say?) that makes you feel significant but also smoothed down into your necessary role. You are not greater than the Earth and fate and all that jazz, but you alone have the sovereignty to enact your will and intention. His experience flying reminded me a lot of one of my favorite historical novels (which has one of the best narrators and voices I've ever read), Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein.

“To be a man is, precisely, to be responsible. It is to feel shame at the sight of what seems to be unmerited misery. It is to take pride in a victory won by one's comrades. It is to feel, when setting one's stone, that one is contributing to the building of the world.”

I often say I love characters (or in this case, figures) who are passionate about their sole pursuit. His particular situation strips down life into the core things: in this case, the elements of nature—which is why the memoir is so appealing as one of the "great" travel narratives—and his sense of nobility and purpose.

“As for the peasant so for the pilot, dawn and twilight become events of consequence. His essential problems are set him by the mountain, the sea, the wind. Alone before the vast tribunal of the tempestuous sky, the pilot defends his mails and debates on terms of equality with those three elemental divinities.”

“The earth rises and seems to spread like a mist. The first stars tremble as if shimmering in green water. Hours must pass before their glimmer hardens into the frozen glitter of diamonds. I shall have a long wait before I witness the soundless frolic of the shooting stars. In the profound darkness of certain nights, I have seen the sky streaked with so many trialing sparks that it seemed to me a great gale must be blowing through the outer heavens.”

Absolutely stunning.

Of course, he also goes through hell. When he crashes his plane and stumbles for days, experiencing mirages and wishes of death, he's consumed with despair and grief combined with the desperate hope for relief.

“I had thought myself lost, had touched the very bottom of despair; and then, when the spirit of renunciation had filled me, I had known peace. I know now what I was not conscious of at the time—that in such an hour a man feels that he has finally found himself and has become his own friend. An essential inner need has been satisfied, and against that satisfaction, that self-fulfilment, no external power can prevail.”

The Contrast of Pleasures

One of the reasons I love hiking and backpacking is for the contrast of pleasures you find in the midst of a challenge, and that's expressed in Wind, Sand, and Stars when Antoine de Saint-Exupéry believes he will die after a plane crash.

“Stretched out before the fire I looked at the glowing fruit and said to myself that men did not know what an orange was. "Here we are, condemned to death," I said to myself, "and still the certainty of dying cannot compare with the pleasure I am feeling. The joy I take from this half of an orange which I am holding in my hand is one of the greatest joys I have ever known.”

When I read a book shortly after another, I obviously make connections between them (as reading is an active process with memory, which is why I reread so often! It's always a variable experience!) So I was reminded of one of the theses of The Count of Monte Cristo being that man can't appreciate genuine bliss unless he's encountered loss first. In the book, the Count makes a couple believe that one is dead, and makes the man wait a month and wish for death before making his grand reveal that his love is still alive. In this case, everything is grander, better, more delicious in the face of proposed death and days of heat-blistered delirium. It definitely emphasizes the same concept.

“Water, thou hast no taste, no color, no odor; canst not be defined, art relished while ever mysterious. Not necessary to life, but rather life itself, thou fillest us with a gratification that exceeds the delight of the senses. By thy might, there return into us treasures that we had abandoned. By thy grace, there are released in us all the dried-up runnels of our heart. Of the riches that exist in the world, thou art the rarest and also the most delicate - thou so pure within the bowels of the earth! A man may die of thirst lying beside a magnesian spring. He may die within reach of a salt lake. He may die though he hold in his hand a jug of dew, if it be inhabited by evil salts. For thou, water, art a proud divinity, allowing no alteration, no foreignness in thy being. And the joy that thou spreadest is an infinitely simple joy.”

I am big on simple pleasures, although I could be better at weathering the storms, so I appreciated how vivid the contrast was both when reflecting when stranded in the desert and upon being rescued. That's one of the reasons I love reading thru-hiking memoirs so much: I crave the euphoria of a "zero day" in town after days of running yourself ragged, when a burger and a real shower sound like the most decadent of luxuries.

“All of us have had the experience of a sudden joy that came when nothing in the world had forewarned us of its coming—a joy so thrilling that if it was born of misery we remembered even the misery with tenderness.”

Man & Relationships to Others

The kinship Antoine de Saint-Exupéry felt to his fellow pilots was meaningful and powerful. Of course, he had the confidence of knowing that man is largely expendable, that everyone has their destiny, but that they're temporarily gathered in the same place to appreciate a simple pleasure (see) like a meal in each others' company. There was an extra layer of awareness in every reunion that you were so close to losing them, or that you might never see them again. (He himself disappeared on a long flight, presumably crashed.)

On one hand, relationships were temporary and in-the-moment. On the other, the history of each pattern of interactions was worth treasuring because of its possible limited aspect.

“Nothing, in truth, can ever replace a lost companion. Old comrades cannot be manufactured. There is nothing that can equal the treasure of so many shared memories, so many bad times endured together, so many quarrels, reconciliations, heartfelt impulses. Friendships like that cannot be reconstructed. If you plant an oak, you will hope in vain to sit soon under its shade. For such is life. We grow rich as we plant through the early years, but then come the years when time undoes our work and cuts down our trees. One by one our comrades deprive us of their shade, and within our mourning we always feel now the secret grief of growing old. If I search among my memories for those whose taste is lasting, if I write the balance sheet of the moments that truly counted, I surely find those that no fortune could have bought me. You cannot buy the friendship of a companion bound to you forever by ordeals endured together.”

I mean, it makes sense in the context of Wind, Sand, and Stars in his role as a pilot. It's why fraternity pledgeship and military training and all are situated and structured the way they are. Ties are formed by hardship and endurance together.

At the time I was reading this, I was having lots of conversations with solo travelers and dinner companions in Amsterdam and Paris and Dublin about who you only meet once, and how it's always made me a little sad to believe that you will never see someone again. Stoicism embraces a philosophy of viewing people and material goods as temporary, but I've never been great at the idea in practice. I almost like this version better because it honors and respects time and effort and the serendipity of crashing into each other, but also understands that there are greater forces at work as each man has his own will and destiny.

And on that note—man. Obviously, interpersonal relationships were not the focus of this book, but I did have one glaring issue with how Antoine de Saint-Exupéry characterized his impending death. It's not for me to criticize how a man endures his belief that it's the end of his life, but when he was reflecting on his wife and loved ones: the thought was only that they would be so sad to lose him, rather than thinking of anything he loved about them in return. For that reason, the emphasis on individualism almost felt a little self-centered. Maybe he did think of them generously but didn't translate it to the page; I hope so. He was mourning for their anticipated grief at the loss of his connection rather than the connection itself, which just felt a little disquieting to me.

But as a whole, keeping in mind the context of conflict and survival and the rickety airplanes at the time (everything that could possibly go wrong!), a healthy detachment could have been necessary.

Plus, keep in mind the time period. He will occasionally say something racist or sexist—or espousing outdated beliefs—and it's up to you to decide if that's something you can reasonably situate accordingly within the period. People have different comfort levels in reading the olds. He doesn't seem to see women as fully as men, nor people of color as having the same wisdom as himself. Just a note in case that affects your reading experience.

Overall Takeaways

I think Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's perspective incorporated a lot of beliefs and truths I really love. For one, connection to nature makes me feel more like myself than anything else, and I regularly seek awe as the grounding force for my life. Similarly, I am a person with a very strong purpose and guiding motivation, so the emphasis on individual agency, willpower, and necessary suffering for what is right or good or meaningful all made intuitive sense to me. There were small aspects of the narrative I loved and connected to based on what I've been reading lately—like the contrast necessary for genuine happiness like The Count of Monte Cristo, or what to expect from people you connect to like How to Be a Stoic—that especially made it worth the read.

It's a relatively short memoir, with the beginning talking about the noble calling of his work and his experience with other pilots (and their respective disappearances.) The middle section talks about him going down in the desert and believing himself to be near death, incorporating the bulk of his philosophies about meaning and control. Then, the ending aptly wraps up his reflections on the experience and his role overall.

Personally, the philosophy of individual sovereignty (especially in his specific situation) balanced the humility of being subject to the great and powerful forces of nature with the freedom and confidence of knowing you have control over your capabilities and your reactions. It made a lot of sense for me specifically as someone perpetually struggling with my need to hold myself to an exceptional standard versus accept what I can't change.

My one critique would be that the concept as executed could occasionally feel a little self-centered because it neglected the role of unconscious influences and frankly others' wills in our lives, perhaps giving himself too much credit for understanding exactly what his role was in destiny. Sure, it grappled with nature and circumstance, but didn't seem to give enough credit to other people. Oddly enough, that reminds me some of what I didn't like about The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker; you're not giving people room to surprise you because you assume you know exactly what they'll say and do, so it lacks some openness. Everyone's a main character in their own life, you know? Again, choosing to believe he just focused on other topics in his writing. But also, all you can control is yourself. So—I get it. Need to dissect that idea more.