Tuesday, 1 January 2013

Burnt Clutch and Nitromethane

My favourite quotes from Perfumes: The A-Z Guide written by Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez

~ Reminds me of the lethally huge toddler in Spirited Away.
~ "modern" (industry-speak for dull).
~ As charming as a cement lot.
~ Exceptionally repulsive.
~ Someday it may smell fresh again.
~ Drags on like an interminable Sunday afternoon tea at Aunt Mabel's.
~ Almost vulgar enough to be interesting but ultimately too crude to work properly.
~ A sort of wearable limoncello.
~ Precarious equilibria.
~ Emancipated fragrances.
~ A dreadful hiss like cheap speakers.
~ Dim-witted sport fragrance.
~ Banal reformulation.
~ Hideously screechy.
~ Should have been banned by the Geneva Convention.
~ Appallingly successful.
~ Can it, by all means.
~ Like a glass of white wine that's been sitting out all night.
~ Disturbingly buttery.
~ Gleefully overstuffed.
~ Only hard work and dedication can produce something as derivative and uninteresting as this.
~ Ghastly little squeaky-clean stunted floral.
~ Radiates like nuclear waste.
~ Whines like a dentists drill and hurts almost as much.
~ Fruit-flavoured liquid antibiotic.
~ Useful as a contraceptive, but little else.
~ Dish washing detergent.
~ Nightmarishly prolific.
~ A sad wistful odour like baby's breath.
~ Like low-grade tea with milk in a roadside diner.
~ Grievous yawn.
~ Like catching the tail end of a cymbal sound.
~ Bland artificial warmth.
~ Appealing and repulsive in exact balance,  but not very interesting.
~ Expensively pointless.
~ Peculiarly and distinctly urinous with a curdled-milk smell.
~ For tightfisted sugar daddies.
~ Breaks my heart and makes me despair of capitalism.
~ Cynical travesty of the real thing.
~ I look forward to it being discontinued.
~ The French are known for their wry humour.
~ It feels like sweet pea after a nasty accident followed by reconstructive surgery.
~ Sounds like a conclusion to a funeral eulogy.
~ Done with a gas chromatograph badly in need of calibration.
~ A headache force field.
~ Unpleasant glory.
~ Reminiscent of the little girl in The Exorcist shouting in a deep male voice.
~ Fascinatingly bad.
~ Cough-syrup ice cream.
~ Diabolical intent.
~ Hideously true.
~ The offspring is sterile.
~ It's basically soap that doesn't get you clean.
~ The fragrance equivalent of a stage whisper: a quiet accord, only loud as hell.
~ Useful if you desperately miss mowing the lawn.
~ The most unpleasant in perfumery, marine and woody amber: plague and cholera at once.
~ Diabolically long-lasting.
~ Completely baffling.
~ Iris just suffered a disfiguring car crash.
~ So two-years ago.
~ Excitingly weird rancid-glue (or seriously dirty drawers).
~ Cacophonic mix.
~ As comfortable as having your dental plaque blasted away by ultrasound.
~ Aggressively boring.
~ More like wet dog.
~ Probably first rejected for use in industrial drain cleaner.
~ Utterly unremarkable.
~ Ageless in a prematurely wrinkled way.
~ Intensely derivative.
~ Deathless prose.
~ Lethally effective.
~ Boring to the point of bad manners.
~ Similar to what happens when you eat ice cream too quickly.
~ A brilliant, beautiful monster.
~ A fallen angel without the demonic laugh.
~ The most repulsively cloying thing on the market today.
~ Blithely aggressive.
~ Hideously potent.
~ Induces a hacking cough.
~ Smell[s] halfway between fish skin and honeysuckle.
~ Uniquely ugly.
~ As relentlessly perky and brainless as a Stepford wife.
~ Frightens horses.
~ An artistic failure and, mercifully, a commercial belly-flop.
~ The bathrooms in hell smell like this.
~ Very nearly good enough for a window cleaner.
~ Egregious screwup.
~ Feels like an alternate universe chypre.
~ Makes me think of hospital instruments.


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Perfume Apprentice

Training

~ Making soap from lard.
~ Sewing gloves of chamois.
~ Mixing powders from wheat flour; almond bran and pulverised violet roots.
~ Rolling scented candles made of charcoal, salt-petre and sandalwood chips.
~ Pressing Oriental pastilles of myrrh, benzoin and powdered amber.
~ Kneading frankincense, shellac, vetiver and cinnamon into balls of incense.
~ Sifting and spatulating poudre imperiale out of crushed rose petals, lavender flowers and cascarilla bark.
~ Producing tinctures, extracts and essences.
~ Rinsing pomades.
~ Producing, filtering, concentrating, clarifying and rectifying infusions.


Harvesting season

January: Cassias, Violet petals and Narcissus.
March: Hyacinths, Jonquil.
April: Broom and orange blossoms.
May: Lily of the Valley, Roses.
End of July: Jasmine.
August: Tuberoses.


Grenouille's creations

~ An odour for inconspicuousness.
~ A sweaty perfume for a coarser, hurried and urgent appearance.
~ A deceptive imitation of Druot's aura seminalis to arouse a certain amount of notice.
~ A scent for arousing sympathy.
~ A repellant odour for when he wanted to be avoided and left completely alone.





* Suskind, Patrick (2010) Perfume The Story of a Murderer London: Penguin Group *

Fluidal Theory

The Marquis de la Taillade-Espinasse believed that the earth itself constantly emits a corrupting gas called fluidum letale which, allegedly, lames vital energies and later utterly extinguishes them. All living creatures should endeavour to distance themselves from the earth by growing away from it and avoiding earth-bound products.

The proposed treatment for those suffering from fluidum letale: five days of decontamination and revitalisation - fluidum vitale.

Fluidum vitale -  the patient is constantly surrounded by a stream of purified air and fed a diet of earth-removed regions such as:

~ dove bouillon
~ lark pie
~ ragout of wild duck
~ preserves of fruit picked from the trees
~ bread made from a special wheat grown in high altitudes
~ wine from the Pyrenees
~ chamois milk
~ frozen frothy meringue from hens kept in the attic of the mansion.




* Suskind, Patrick (2010) Perfume The Story of a Murderer London: Penguin Group *