| Flash
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| 7580. Tue Jun 15, 2004 10:37 am |
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| We could if we all set off immediately. See you there. |
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| Frederick The Monk
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| 7581. Tue Jun 15, 2004 11:40 am |
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My favourite childrens' book has always been The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. At our wedding one of my wife's bridesmaids read the following from it:
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It was then that the fox appeared. "good morning" said the fox.
"good morning" the little prince responded politely although when he turned around he saw nothing.
"I am right here" the voice said, "under the apple tree."
"who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."
"I am a fox", the fox said.
"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince, "I am so unhappy."
"I cannot play with you," the fox said, "I am not tamed."
"AH please excuse me,"said the little prince. But after some thought, he added: "what does that mean---'tame'?"
"you do not live here," said the fox, "what is it you are looking for?"
"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean---tame?"
"Men,"said the fox, "they have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing.
They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"
"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean---tame?"
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."
"To establish ties?"
"Just that," said the fox. "to me, you are still nothing more than
a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys.
And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me.
To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes.
But 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. . ."
"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower. . .I think she has tamed me. . ."
"It is possible," said the fox. "On earth one sees all sorts of things."
"Oh but this is not on the earth!" said the little prince.
The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious. "On another planet?"
"Yes"
"Are there hunters on that planet?"
"No"
"Ah that's interesting! Are there chickens?"
"No"
"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox. But he came back to his idea. "My life is very monotonous," he said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life.
I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others.
Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat. . ."
The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time. "Please---tame me!" he said.
"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time.
I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."
"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. " Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me. . ."
"What must I do, to tame you? asked the little prince.
"You must be very patient," replied the fox. First 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..."
The next day the little prince came back.
"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox.
"If for example, you came at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier
as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time,
I shall never know at what hour my heart is ready to greet you. . . One must observe the proper rites. . ."
"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.
"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "they are what make one day different from other days, one hour different from other hours.
There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they danse with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time,
every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."
So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near---
"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you. . ."
"Yes that is so", said the fox.
"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.
"Yes that is so" said the fox.
"Then it has done you no good at all!"
"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields."
And then he added: "go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. "You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made a friend,
and now he is unique in all the world."
And the roses were very much embarrassed. "You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you --the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled,
or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is MY rose."
And he went back to meet the fox. "Goodbye" he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret:
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--"said the little prince so he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it.
You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose. . ."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
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| raindancer
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| 7584. Tue Jun 15, 2004 3:58 pm |
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Jenny.
About 5 or 6 years ago, I wrote and illustrated a book (privately) called 'Supermouse' which went down very well with a small friend of mine. Unfortunately, some time later, the same character came out by someone else!
She's reading Artemis Fowl now, and I think I agree with your assessment of it. Not so gripping. |
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| Jenny
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| 7585. Tue Jun 15, 2004 9:13 pm |
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Fred - that is a truly beautiful book, and what an inspired idea to have that reading from it at a wedding. Thank you for sharing that.
Raindancer - I know some kids really like it, but Artemis Fowl just isn't my style I'm afraid. Have another go at your story - you can always change the name you know! I regret to tell you that Mighty Mouse is taken too. |
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| raindancer
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| 7587. Tue Jun 15, 2004 10:18 pm |
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Jenny. Don't think I will now. The book sits on her bookshelf in a plastic bag to stop it falling apart. It's part of the past now, a token to a time loved and long gone... We bring it out occasionaly, rather like looking at old birthday cards and diaries. It went its way, along with parks, swings and sunny, carefree days. You remember all that!
Might do another one, though, but it wouldn't be the same. |
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| Stapes
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| 7593. Wed Jun 16, 2004 5:17 am |
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I think in terms of illustration, my favourite children's illustrator has to be Quentin Blake. Not only did he illustrate the unbelievably fantastic Roald Dahl's books (I got a book signed by Roald Dahl when I was a child, and it's one of my most prized possessions), but he also illustrated for a fantastic children's poet, Michael Rosen. Now he seems to do Robertson's jam, for some reason. But he's great.
Michael Rosen has written EXCELLENT poems, usually about events happening in normal family life, although I think he wrote one about somebody dying, which really shocked me as a child. He also wrote one about there being a place where everything you'd ever lost was kept in a special locker for you, and you were allowed to visit this place only once in your life to reclaim your belongings. |
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| Jenny
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| 8139. Mon Aug 16, 2004 4:49 pm |
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| I saw a marvellous children's book today, which would go beautifully in the QI bookshop if it is available in the UK. It's called 'The Truth About Poop' by Susan Goodman, and it is full of fascinating facts about - erm - poop. Reading age of about 8 or 9, but would appeal to children from about 7-12. Actually, I sat in the bookshop and read it all the way through.... (it's not that long). |
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| swdiva
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| 23324. Sat Aug 27, 2005 9:42 pm |
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| New here. I'm just looking for the illustrator from a children's book. And because your site discussed "Overheard on a Saltmarsh", I was led to you. Does anyone know of an old (turn of the century) illustration that appeared in a picture book in the early- to mid-seventies? It's one of those nagging things that won't let me sleep at night. |
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| Flash
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| 23325. Sat Aug 27, 2005 9:55 pm |
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| I think you'll need to narrow that down a bit: at the moment you seem to be asking for any turn-of-the-century illustration that might have been used in any '70s picture book. |
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| dotcom
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| 23328. Sun Aug 28, 2005 2:51 am |
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Quentin Blake/Michael Rosen have written a very good book for children called "The Sad Book", I read it through in a bookshop the other day and found it genuinely moving.
In my eyes, the best picture book of all time is still "Where The Wild Things Are". The name of the author has slipped my mind for the moment, but I believe he's recently produced a second one. |
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| JumpingJack
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| Beehive
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| 23335. Sun Aug 28, 2005 6:44 am |
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| Where The Wild Things Are is by Maurice Sendak- do you mean he's written another book about the Wild Things? |
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| Jenny
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| 23337. Sun Aug 28, 2005 9:54 am |
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Overheard on a Salmarsh
Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?
Give them me.
No.
Give them me. Give them me.
No.
Then I will howl all night in the reeds,
Lie in the mud and howl for them.
Goblin, why do you love them so?
They are better than stars or water,
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man's fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.
Hush, I stole them out of the moon.
Give me your beads, I want them.
No.
I will howl in the deep lagoon
For your green glass beads, I love them so.
Give them me. Give them.
No.
-- Harold Monro
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| Jenny
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| 23338. Sun Aug 28, 2005 9:56 am |
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Could it be this one? I'm not sure how old it is:
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| Jenny
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| 23339. Sun Aug 28, 2005 10:06 am |
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swdiva - Whenever the illustration you saw was drawn, I think it may have been a little later than turn of the century - it was originally in Harold Monro's book Children of Love, published 1919. I think I vaguely remember an illustration of the kind you describe, and it being rather in the style of Arthur Rackham. This is possible, as the two men were pretty contemporaneous, and as Rackham was illustrating well before the turn of the century the style would be familiar as from that date.
Here's a link to a page of Rackham prints - is this the style you remember?
http://www.bpib.com/illustrat/rackham.htm
| Quote: | | Harold Monro (1879-1932) is chiefly remembered for his Poetry Bookshop in Bloomsbury which he founded in 1913 to publish poetry, to encourage its sale, and to promote poetry-readings. He published the five volumes of Edward Marsh's Georgian Poetry (1912-1922), and was also the founder and editor of the Poetry Review. His own Collected Works appeared posthumously in 1933 with an introduction by T.S.Eliot. |
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