All grown-ups were children first. (But few of them remember it.)” Certain readers may remember this dedication to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s cherished classic, The Little Prince, the most translated book in the French language. In her delicious sophomore novel, Ania Szado dramatizes the childhood appetites that still rumble in adulthood: the hunger for flight, for play, for love, for wonder.

Launched to coincide with the 70th anniversary of The Little Prince’s publication, Studio Saint-Ex centres on the fictional and tempestuous love triangle among Saint-Exupéry, his fiery Latin-American wife, and a young fashion designer. The story is set against the vivid backdrop of New York City’s expatriate community during the Second World War. Fledgling designer Mignonne Lachappelle and Saint-Exupéry’s wife, Consuelo, narrate the story from contrasting feminine perspectives.

Guiding the reader through the fashion scene of the 1940s, Mig possesses a fresh, earnest voice. Her narration evokes the textures of the design industry with visceral details: a chiffon so delicately woven it takes on the imprint of whatever it touches, “like a lover to a lover;” “the heavy scent of humid wool, the acerbic edge of chemical dyes;” the “thick, oily lubricants that permeate the wood” of her atelier. Though Mig speaks in the first person, the author’s voice occasionally intrudes: “Inspiration is like reimagining a garment. Parse the elements, recut the pieces, use from the past what resonates today.”  

By contrast, the sections focusing on Consuelo, born during a cyclone and an earthquake, are more immediate, despite the distancing effect of third-person narration. Her wit and wile provide the narrative with a shot of adrenaline. “It was impossible for Consuelo to be boring,” we are accurately informed. “She had tried it once and failed.”

Sensual and outrageous, Consuelo explains why Mig’s Butterfly Collection caught her eye: as a child in El Salvador, she snuck into her family’s pantry and stole an enormous jar of honey. She shed her clothing and ran through the forest until she found a patch of sunlight, where she let the honey drip over every inch of her body until butterflies of every hue alighted on her skin, creating a brilliant garment of shimmering colour.

Here and there the prose steams to the torrid temperature of the bodice-ripping romance: Consuelo begs Antoine to make love to her, saying, “You are my home. I belong here.” In another scene, Mig says, “In four long strides, he was on me, his mouth on mine, his hands in the silk. The hot breeze stole across my belly as he unbound my dress.” There are also some hot-and-heavy scenes between Consuelo and Mig. Some readers may relish these, others may cringe. Those in the latter category can content themselves that Szado possesses range as a writer and is capable of a subtler touch elsewhere.

Aircraft, both grounded and in flight, abound. In lesser hands, these images might come off as heavy-handed, but Szado ensures that they work on both a literal and metaphorical level. Saint-Exupéry was a pilot and adventurer who never returned from his final 1944 mission over occupied France. Aptly, Mig falls for Antoine when he tells her about the magic and dangers of flight, over wine and cheese at the Alliance Française: “[Be] alone within the sky. It is something perfect.”

Planes taking off and landing, idling on the ground, and gliding in the air heighten the tension between opposing worlds: earth and sky, haute couture and wartime austerity, America and France, imagination and logic, desire and morality, love and ownership. Saint-Exupéry’s character is also one of oppositions: he is a dedicated storyteller and a mathematician, a devout man who doesn’t quite believe in God, a war pilot who will not take up arms, a devoted friend whose greatest need is solitude.   

One thing that is missing from the novel is Saint-Exupéry’s voice. Though he comes alive via dialogue, letters, and the occasional quotation from his books, Saint-Exupéry’s presence is muted and recessive. Granting the famous writer and pilot a voice would have added considerable dynamism and texture.

Like The Little Prince, Studio Saint-Ex is ultimately about not losing the child within and the necessity of taking risks, even when they may result in crash landings. As the little prince says, “Straight ahead you can’t go very far.”