Looking back at all the perfume books we’ve discussed so far, it strikes me how often perfume writers adopt a dramatic type of prose. We’re told that a world without scent would be “unbearable” (Barillé and Laroze), and that smells have the ability to “detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines” (Ackerman). Perfume is not just a vehicle of elegance or beauty, it’s a transcendental “engine of the universe” (Aftel) that connects past memories with the present (much like that soppy cookie in your cup of tea). Although I’m still a bit wary of poetic metaphors in non-fiction books, I think I’ve come to terms with this distinctive characteristic, and I’m actually starting to appreciate it more and more. Firstly because I do realize that reading about perfumery is as much about enjoyment as it is educational; and secondly, because the elusiveness of perfume does indeed require a good dose of poetic imagery at times. Read Richard Stamelman’s book Perfume, and you’ll understand why.

Until recently, my favorite titles in the ‘generic’ section of my library were The Book of Perfume and Perfume Legends. They’re both well-researched, nicely illustrated, and great fun to browse through on a Sunday afternoon. Michael Edwards’ book in particular seemed like a hard act to follow: if I were writing a perfume book and that one landed on my desk, I’m sure it would discourage me a great deal. Fortunately, the author of Perfume just carried on with his project: to tell the story of perfumery from the mid 18th century to the present against the backdrop of changes in art, literature, poetry, architecture and fashion. The result is a book that is indeed focused on perfumery, only with a much wider scope than we’re used to…

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