(...) there were no things at all in Grenouille's innermost universe, only the odours of things. (Which is why the
façon de parler speaks of that universe as a landscape; a no more than adequate expression, to be sure, but the only possible one, since our language is of no use when it comes to describing the smellable world.)
An example of the prose in this book, but also a curious remark. Had it been impossible to describe the smellable world, then how does this story seem to succeed at it anyway? I thought it was a great experience to have the world described in scents. Similar to reading cookbooks and imagining the flavors of the dishes, this book made me hungry (for scent).
At times this book gets a bit too fantastic, but ah, the rest of the story already has a fairy tale vibe about it, so why not.