Essays on literary works - 2024
Is the Lamplighter Mad? (Antoine de Saint-Exupery “The Little Prince”)
Okay, real talk: if you don’t remember the lamplighter from The Little Prince, that’s valid. He’s in, like, five pages max. You blink, and he’s gone. But ohhh honey, he burns. Like one of those characters who gets only a line in a Tarantino film but somehow ends up on a thousand Tumblr gifsets. That kind of cult legend.
So here’s the deal: Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince is essentially a sad boi space fable, one long moodboard of existential dread in pastel watercolor. And scattered across its planets are these caricature-people, each representing some facet of Adult Brain Disease: the king with no subjects (power complex), the drunkard (escapism), the businessman (capitalism.exe), the geographer (map guy with zero curiosity?), and then—the lamplighter.
He’s the only one the Little Prince likes. Like, really likes. And that? That’s suspicious.
Because the lamplighter is, to put it in Gen Z psycho-babble, chronically burnt out and terminally obedient. He lights a lamp. Then extinguishes it. Then lights it again. And again. And again. Every minute, on the minute. Why? Because the planet rotates faster now. That’s literally the lore. And the dude just... kept doing the job. Never questioned it. Just tightened the jaw and kept striking the match.
So let’s ask the obvious: Is the lamplighter insane?
Or—and here’s the unhinged take—is he the last rational person in the whole dang book?
Obedience as Performance Art
First, let’s call this what it is: the lamplighter is doing a bit. A one-man play. An avant-garde endurance piece about devotion in a world where meaning erodes every time the sun sets.
He obeys orders. Not because he believes in them, but because disobedience has become structurally impossible. The rotation speed of the planet changed, and instead of adapting, someone—probably some off-screen bureaucracy of invisible celestial HR managers—told him: “keep going.”
So he keeps going. Like a social media intern caught in the infinite scroll of algorithmic burnout. Like a DoorDash driver in a rainstorm with three simultaneous deliveries and zero tips. Like... a guy in 2025 working 3 jobs and being told to “just rest more” for mental health.
We see him and think: “He’s nuts.”
But what if he’s just more aware of the absurdity than anyone else?
Because here’s the thing. The king rules nothing. The businessman counts stars like crypto coins and believes that means ownership. The drunkard is in a shame loop. But the lamplighter? He knows. He mutters to the Prince that yeah, this sucks. But the instructions are to light the lamp. And, unlike the others, his action—however futile—still helps. The lamp, in its flickering, does what none of the other adults manage: it gives light.
Which raises the terrifying possibility: What if being “sane” in a broken system means looking insane to everyone else?
Saint-Ex’s Burnout Allegory (a.k.a. "He’s Just Like Me, For Real")
Let’s not pretend Saint-Exupéry didn’t know what he was doing here. He was a mail pilot. A guy who literally flew solo through deserts and storms to deliver letters no one would read. He’d crash, survive, crash again. He knew what it meant to keep going not because it made sense, but because to stop would unravel the fragile thread of identity you cling to.
The lamplighter is every overachieving student who has no idea why they still care about grades. Every burned-out teacher pushing through the system because “kids need it.” Every person who logs into Zoom meetings they don’t understand for a job they secretly think is fake.
The difference? The lamplighter’s futility is visible. It loops every sixty seconds. It’s mechanical. It’s tragicomic. And that’s the key. He’s a parody of us. And a mirror. And maybe even a warning.
Saint-Exupéry doesn’t need to scream “capitalism bad” or “bureaucracy eats souls.” He just shows a guy lighting a lamp. Over. And over. Until you cry.
The Prince’s Reaction: A Gen Z Diagnosis
So the Little Prince meets this guy and is instantly like: “I respect you.” Which—coming from someone who dumped a rose and ghosted a fox—is a lot.
But look closer: the Prince isn’t just admiring hard work. He’s reacting to honesty. The lamplighter isn’t pretending. He doesn’t posture like the king or rationalize like the businessman. He knows he’s trapped. He doesn’t make excuses for the absurdity. He just does the job because someone has to.
Gen Z vibes, honestly.
There’s a growing movement of teens and twenty-somethings online who get this. They’re ditching hustle culture not out of laziness, but because they see the hamster wheel. They’ve watched their parents “do the right thing” and get eaten alive by debt, climate anxiety, and 24/7 notifications. They want authentic absurdity. And if they have to live inside a broken system, they’d at least like to make memes about it.
The lamplighter? He’s meme-worthy. You could picture him in a TikTok skit. “POV: You’re still lighting the streetlamp even though the planet spins every 60 seconds and HR hasn’t updated your job description since the Big Bang.”
(Background music: sad Lana Del Rey. Obvs.)
The Lamp = Hope? Control? The Only Thing Left?
Let’s get uncomfortably metaphysical for a sec. Because that lamp isn’t just a prop. It’s the last thing in the universe still working. The businessman owns stars. The king rules no one. But the lamplighter? His action has visible consequence. Light happens.
Which, if we’re spiraling into poetic symbolism (and we are), means this dude is keeping the cosmos from collapsing into despair. The light = meaning. Or maybe ritual, which is a cousin of meaning. Or maybe it’s just... resistance.
Even if the planet’s broken. Even if the system’s dumb. Even if you’re alone. You light the lamp. Not because it fixes anything. But because you’re still here.
That’s not madness. That’s theatre. That’s art. That’s living on purpose when there’s no reason to.
That’s what the Prince sees.
And that’s why the lamplighter feels like the only adult in the room.
So, Is He Mad or...?
Honestly? Yes. And no. And that’s the genius of it.
He’s mad in the same way Sisyphus is mad. Or Bartleby. Or every existential antihero from Camus to BoJack Horseman. He’s doing the same thing over and over and not expecting a different result. But that’s because the repetition is the point.
He’s the only character in the book who still acts, not because it serves ego or logic, but because something inside him refuses to stop. He is devotion without hope. Duty without audience. Art without validation. (Okay, that one hit too hard.)
So yes. He’s unwell. But maybe “wellness” is a scam designed to keep us from noticing the planet is spinning too fast and no one adjusted the schedule. Maybe we need more lamplighters.
Or maybe we already are them. Lighting little metaphorical flames on TikTok. Posting into the void. Holding space for each other in DMs at 3 a.m. Doing the thing. Again and again. Because what else is there?
Ending on a Weird Note (Like All Good Planets)
So the Little Prince leaves. The lamplighter keeps lighting. And we? We scroll. We joke. We write chaotic essays like this one because something inside us still needs to make meaning, even if it’s glitchy and full of contradictions.
The lamplighter is not a footnote. He’s the core.
He’s the vibe.
And maybe—just maybe—he’s not mad.
He’s just us.
Striking the match.
Again.
And again.
And again.