I’m halfway through Kathleen Tessaro’s book The Perfume Collector. It was published this year in February. I decided to buy it after seeing an ad about it on Kindle a few times.
It’s some sort of mystery but that’s not where its value lies. It’s a wonderful ride through London and Paris in 1955 and New York in 1927. The book truly comes to life. You see all the comings and goings of the guests and staff in a New York Hotel during the crazy years, you see a lackluster socialite’s life in London in 1955, and you feel the breeze (yes, it sounds cheesy, but the book does transport you) of Paris in springtime.
Beautiful stuff. Might not become a classic like Patrick Süskind’s Perfume, which was a phenomenal little book, but it makes for a satisfying read nevertheless. And it may even stand the test of time. It’s a really nice book.
Where does the perfume fit in? Well, to get cheesy again, the writing itself is like perfume upon the pages. The author treads lightly with her words, and they weave visual tapestries of places and social situations of long ago. Of course, there are descriptions of scents as well. It’s all rather beautiful. (I see it’s the mot du jour.)
Kathleen Tessaro’s book The Perfume Collector is right now the #1 Bestseller on Amazon in Historical British Literature.