Killer Perfume - there is no end to the haunting.

SPOILER ALERT!  IF YOU WISH TO READ THIS BOOK, DO NOT READ THIS POST!!

I’ve finished the book for a couple of days now and the book is still haunting me relentlessly. How does he know? How does he know that one tiny drop of his “perfume”, which was made of 25 exquisitely beautiful virgins just coming into their womanhood, that would make the populace of Grassee loved him, adore him and were mesmerized by him. It is a spell he casted over them so cunningly, so underhanded. Then with the rest of the vial, he doused himself in the horrendously smelling cemetery of Paris that he would be eaten alive, literally, by a mob for they loved him so much that they wanted to possess him – to have a piece of him. How does he know that too much love would turn one into a monster? He had freely admitted that he cannot love, he knew only hatred – how to hate and be hated. Is it because the line between love and hate is so very thin and blurry?

Grenouille created the perfume in hope to create love – not just to be loved as his original intent– but also to have the ability to love. What a crushing discovery it was for him that, yes, others can love and do love him by his deceitful tricks; and that, yes, he can appear to others as an ultimate desirable being; yes, he can play with the whole world’s emotions just by one droplet of his creation. But what good does it do him when he has no capacity to love them in return? “To hell with it…” he said. To hell with it he went, with his perfume.

At what point love can become excessive? Is that really a possibility? If it does get to the “point”, is it still “love”? I hinder no hatred or disgust for Grenouille; rather, I carry this heavy load of sadness for him. Oh, and the contempt for the people!! Do we not see it still? People’s admiration and adoration for certain public figures sometimes are dauntingly stupid; or there is no reason or explanation why some people linger on with certain partners or mates of theirs when others would’ve packed up and leave?  How beastly people behaved when Grenouille showed himself to be this all-desirable being - or was that really what human nature is - to succumb to the primal needs of the act of loving? I don't know, I don't know...

Cursed Perfume. Part II.

Two thirds into the book, our protagonist  killed one with his own hands; though, that is not the only death so far. Every person that he has contact with; every one of them - either the one who took care of him out of obligation (Madame Gaillard); or the one who used him because his indifference to the most distressing and disgusting tasks (Grimal, the tanner); or the one who utilized him for his unique and extraordinary talent (Baldini); or the one who paraded his recovery and return from solitude as a personal victory of his own foolish notions (Marquis Taillade-Espinasse) - none of them survived or lived not very long after their encounter with Grenouille (Madame Gaillard may be an exception; however, her end was not as rosy as she had planned and Suskind took care to make sure the reader know that.)  Or should I say that, having certain connection or association with Grenouille - however pathetic it might had been - has somehow placed a curse on these folks that their immediate and tragic death are almost unavoidable whether by their own actions or purely accidental.  It is not clear if Grenouille ever found out that, these people who are a bit more than casual acquaintance of his, even the one had shown him some sort of kindness (the motivation was strictly selfish nonetheless decency it was), strange and tragic death awaited them - no exceptions.

So were they cursed by Grenouille or is Grenouille cursed that he is not meant to have relationships of any kind - however pathetic and insignificant - with the human race? Is he truly evil, a devil as the wet nurse Bussie proclaimed? Or is the author preparing us to accept the fact that he is death himself - whether or not he directly caused the death of others - before AND after he starts his quest? A pathetic little guy starting out his life in the most unimaginable circumstances; growing up in various difficulties without even meaning to survive.  He lives simply because he keeps breathing: brutal birth, fatal illness... as if without a scent, he is not attracted to death and in a way, invincible.

I think Grenioulle is cursed.  I am reluctant to make the conclusion that he is evil.  A truly evil person, in my opinion, has to have the ability to ascertain good and bad, to understand what love and compassion is; and, on his own choice, preform sinful acts and disregard basic human benevolence. Let me try it another way, Grenioulle does indeed have a certain sense of "self"; an awareness of his own being; though, I get the idea that he does not have a "soul" or "consciousness", so to speak, there is no moral compass install in him. Not sure if it's because the external influence - the way he grew up - or he was born without it as he was born without the scent of his own. (Which he discovered in one chapter and it was a fascinating read.  I would venture to say if any of us realizes that we do not have a "soul", we'd probably have the similar reaction and eventually just go on with life doing what feels right to our own logical, natural conclusions and the dictation of our own desires.)

~to be continued~

Stinky Perfume. Part I.

I picked up this book on a whim.  Always on a lookout for interesting books, I've found this one from a friend's blog under "favorite books."  The title was intriguing "Perfume, The Story of a Murderer."  For one thing I obviously trust this friend's taste in books; secondly, the synopsis of the story is about a person who possess extraordinary olfactory ability although he himself does not have any scent, odor or smell.  After finishing Picoult's 500 plus-page "House Rules," followed by a quick read of "Rebekah" by Orson Scott Card, I was in a reading lull.  Granted, I have not finished the "Brand New World"by Huxley; and still have Larsson's "The Girl..." trilogy waiting on my bed side table - thanks to Tana's generosity - the minute I spotted this book at B&N, there was no other book that seemed to be more interesting, more readable.

I was offended, gagged, creeped out and I wasn't even through the first three chapters of the book.  Suskind's ability to describe the smell, combined with the description of the object or matter which caused the scent is simply astounding, amazing and rare.  He placed the pictures of 18th century Paris, where indoor plumbing, running water and the idea of sanitation were nonexistant, in my head with vivid, ugly, gloomy scenery and absolutely disgusting scents that I was feeling physically ill to the point of gagging.  It is true that I am a bit delicate and sensitive when it comes to smells, but I've never been disgusted, physically disgusted, by something I read.

Why was I offended? Babies.  No, babies do not offend me; quite contrary, I love babies.  My feelings were hurt very badly when I read about Grenouille's babyhood, how his life begins.  A baby cannot be loved; an infant who would make an old man shiver just by breathing deeply; a tiny bundle that puts a woman in fear.  I have never ever seen a baby that I cannot love or adore.  Every tiny wrinkled face, the soft fuzz on the small head, the sweet little fingers and toes...even without the sugary, lovable scent of a babe, how could it not be loved??  Perhaps that is Suskind's way of justifying or as an explanation to what and how he is as an adult? I don't know because I have not finished the book yet and, by the title of the book, it's quite clear that he is not going to turn out like Gandhi.

All I can say, right now, is that if the story weren't so fascinating, I would've put the book on the bottom drawer of a desk or kick it under my bed and eventually forget about it.

~to be continued~