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.

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (2006)

"Because it's a legend, you numbskull!"

I must have read Patrick Suskind's novel back in the late '90s, so my memories are hazy. I remember liking it, but little else. Huge Nirvana fan that I am, though, I'm well aware that "Scentless Apprentice" on In Utero is entirely about the novel, the only novel that Kurt Cobain ever wrote a song about.

But what of the film? Well, they did the best they could- it's well-shot, well-acted, well-made- but there's no getting around the fact that the book is unfilmable. The visuals are sumptuous, yes, especially of Provence, but it is the olfactory, not the visual, that is the point. A film cannot convey smell in the way that words on a page can. This is a valiant attempt at the impossible.

Still, as I said, it's a well-made film. Ben Whishaw is very good, John Hurt's narration is excellent, Dustin Hoffman gets a fun little part, and the harshness of eighteenth century France is conveyed well. But the very oddness and creepiness of Jean-Baptiste Grenooulle as a character leads to a lack of charisma at the centre of the film, something that matters less to the novel. However gorgeous this film looks it is, ultimately, a failure.