His name was Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, and if his name has been forgotten today, it is certainly not because Grenouille fell short of those more famous blackguards when it came to arrogance, misanthropy, immorality, or, more succinctly, wickedness, but because his gifts and his sole ambition were restricted to a domain that leaves no traces in history: to the fleeting realm of scent ...' "An astonishing tour de force both in concept and execution." (Guardian). "A fantastic tale of murder and twisted eroticism controlled by a disgusted loathing of humanity...Clever, stylish, absorbing and well worth reading." (Literary Review). "A meditation on the nature of death, desire and decay...a remarkable debut." (Peter Ackroyd, The New York Times Book Review). "Unlike anything else one has read. A phenomenon...Everyone seems to want to get a whiff of this strange perfume, which will remain unique in contemporary literature. " (Figaro). "An ingenious and totally absorbing fantasy." (Daily Telegraph). "Witty, stylish and ferociously absorbing." (Observer).