Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind

 I read this way back in the '90s and, although I remembered very little, I do recall enjoying it. I also watched (and blogged) the film adaptation about ten years ago. I remember very little of that either, but apparently my past self didn't think too much of it, deeming the novel "unfilmable".

And... well, it is. It heavily leans into the dimensions of the olfactory, a dimension denied to film, a medium that appeals solely to the eyes and ears. And the charm of the novel lies in its depictions of the human side of pre-revolutionary France, described with a deeply enjoyable wit- and that the wit come across despite this being a novel in translation is a credit to both the author and the translator.

The novel was a great favourite of songwriting genius Kurt Cobain, of course, a big reason for me initially reading it back in the day. He was fascinated by Jean-Baptiste himself, and his disdain and hatred for his fellow humans. I wasn't really; Grenouille is interesting for his olfactory abilities but I wasn't drawn to him as a character. But the character of Grenouille isn't what makes this novel enjoyable- it's the wit, the irony, the well-drawn minor characters.

This is a good novel, not a great one, perhaps just a tiny bit over-praised for its literary qualities. But it's a thoroughly readable book and perfect for reading on the train while commuting.