Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was born with no distinct smell. Despite being thrown in the garbage amidst the stench of rotting fishes, he managed to survive. Despite the absence of human smell, his olfactory sense is a hundred times more active than a normal human being. He can detect a smell within a mile, even the unidentifiable ones, the ones not listed in the dictionary of smells -- if ever there is one. He has mastered the skill of concocting perfumes from a plethora of ingredients. In no time, he was able to surpass the famous perfumers in France. He skips from one town to another to pursue his only dream of becoming the greatest perfumer in the world. So great was this obsession, intensified by his goal to create the most perfect smell which can only be extracted from 24 virgins. Think. Think more. Think again. It was supposed to be a filler for lack of attention-grabbing titles or creative chutzpah, but then it's almost funny, kinda like a parody of the affirmation that we're human beings. Well, this is life. As I know it. What I think is what you get.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
the smell of the devil incarnate
Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was born with no distinct smell. Despite being thrown in the garbage amidst the stench of rotting fishes, he managed to survive. Despite the absence of human smell, his olfactory sense is a hundred times more active than a normal human being. He can detect a smell within a mile, even the unidentifiable ones, the ones not listed in the dictionary of smells -- if ever there is one. He has mastered the skill of concocting perfumes from a plethora of ingredients. In no time, he was able to surpass the famous perfumers in France. He skips from one town to another to pursue his only dream of becoming the greatest perfumer in the world. So great was this obsession, intensified by his goal to create the most perfect smell which can only be extracted from 24 virgins. Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
Renton, Trainspotting
3 comments:
I've always wanted to read this book. Now that I've read your review, I'm definitely going to look for this one in the nearest bookstore.
that's great. let me hear what you think about it then.
Intelligent review! The film version is going to be shown in French Filmfest at Shangrila cinema soon (June 8 to 17). I'll watch it then!
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