In the period of which we speak, there reigned in the cities a stench barely conceivable to us modern men and women. The streets stank of manure, the courtyards of urine, the stairwells stank of moldering wood and rat droppings, the kitchens of spoiled cabbage and mutton fat; the unaired parlors stank of stale dust, the bedrooms of greasy sheets, damp featherbeds, and the pungently sweet aroma of chamber pots. The stench of sulfur rose from the chimneys, the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries, and from the slaughterhouses came the stench of congealed blood. People stank of sweat and unwashed clothes; from their mouths came the stench of rotting teeth, from their bellies that of onions, and from their bodies, if they were no longer very young, came the stench of rancid cheese and sour milk and tumorous disease. The rivers stank, the marketplaces stank, the churches stank, it stank beneath the bridges and in the palaces.The peasant stank as did the priest, the apprentice as did his master’s wife, the whole of the aristocracy stank, even the king himself stank, stank like a rank lion, and the queen like an old goat, summer and winter.Like its protagonist Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, Perfume is obsessed with smell. Suskind lavishes words on the scents and stenches of 18th-century France; the level of detail that he pours forth is remarkable both for its volume and for the apparent lack of repetition.
Suskind introduces Grenouille in the first sentence as "one of the most gifted and abominable personages in an era that knew no lack of gifted and abominable personages." Grenouille is gifted because he has the most extraordinary nose: in one of the book's most satisfying scenes, Grenouille uses his remarkable sense of smell to show up a master perfumist by slapping together a world-class perfume in minutes without the painstaking measurements that usually characterize the trade. But Grenouille is an abomination because his obsession with smell is absolute. He cares nothing for people and very little about himself; instead, he singlemindedly engages in the pursuit of all scents, hungering steadily for the next best smell, on the path to the apotheoesis of all smells. And Grenouille's obsession means that he will do anything it takes to make the perfect perfume.
The first half of the book, while Grenouille is learning the perfumists' trade, is a delight. Part of the fun comes from observing the art of perfume-making at work, as Suskind skillfully describes the intriguing and complex processes of extracting scents from everyday objects. But in the second half of the book, Suskind too often gets carried away with his prose, drowning the reader in seas of verbiage that, while evocative, also become excessive. Nevertheless, the second half of the book contains one of the funniest and most unexpected analogies I have ever read: "It was as if the man had ten thousand invisible hands and had laid a hand on the genitals of the ten thousand people surrounding him and fondled them in just the way that each of them, whether man or woman, desired in his or her most secret fantasies." (Think about that the next time you read Adam Smith.)
While Perfume for the most part stays well within the realm of plausibility, the conclusion of the novel is something of a mess. The ultimate resolution of Grenouille's search for the world's perfect perfume is almost ludicrous; but, within the tone of the novel as a whole, it almost makes sense. And Grenouille's final scene, which closes the novel, takes a turn for the macabre that again skirts the edge of believability. My guess is that one's perception of the conclusions will depend on one's tastes; I myself found the ending a little strained, but it is, I suppose, an appropriate conclusion for a curious little novel.
Perfume is, alas, never exciting. But that's not the point: the novel is about obsession and smell, and Suskind manages to pull off both with aplomb.
Copyright © 2003 Steven Wu 