Ah, The Little Prince.
At once light, whimsical, deep; and simply delightful. It’s not a story in the usual sense of having a clear purpose (about the only apparent one is the narrator trying to fix his plane before he runs out of supplies), but it’s compelling as we learn more and more about this strange little visitor.
The thing that “makes” it (for me, at least), is that the whole thing is a meditation on what is really important in life (understandable thoughts of someone stranded in the desert). Between the Prince’s seeming non-sequitur questions – that none-the-less reveal a lot about him – and the frequent skewering of “grown-ups” and their “matters of consequence”, it’s just… fun.
“If some one loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars. He can say to himself: ‘Somewhere, my flower is there…’ But if the sheep eats the flower, in one moment all his stars will be darkened… And you think that is not important!”
Plus, there’s a very French undercurrent of “oh, le wimmen, who can understan’ them?” which is amusing.