4 답변2025-08-29 06:32:36
There’s a chilling clarity to the way Patrick Süskind paints his protagonist: the killer in 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer' is Jean-Baptiste Grenouille.
I got pulled into his world the first time I read the book on a rainy afternoon, curling up with a mug of tea and a stack of bookmarks. Grenouille isn’t your typical villain with dramatic motives or a grudge—he’s terrifying precisely because his obsession is so strange and clinical: he wants to capture the absolute essence of beauty in scent, and he believes the only way is to extract it from young women. The murders are methodical, almost ritualized, driven by an artist’s mania rather than a simple thirst for violence.
What stuck with me afterward wasn’t just the killings but Süskind’s exploration of smell, identity, and how society overlooks certain people. Grenouille is both monstrous and oddly pitiable: born with no personal smell himself, he becomes a Frankenstein of fragrance. If you haven’t revisited it in a while, try paying attention to how scent functions as power across the scenes—then Grenouille’s actions feel both horrifying and tragically inevitable.
4 답변2025-08-29 06:38:03
When I first dived into 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer', what struck me was how strongly the setting feels like a character itself. The story is set in 18th-century France — think gritty, smelly Paris streets, crowded markets, tanneries, and cramped alleys where a foundling like Jean-Baptiste Grenouille can slip through unnoticed. Much of the early action takes place in Paris: his birth at the fish market, his apprenticeship with Baldini the perfumer, and the city’s sensory overload that shapes his obsession.
Later the narrative moves south to Grasse, the historical heart of French perfumery, where the industry’s techniques and the town’s fields of flowers become central. There’s also a long, strange interlude where Grenouille retreats into isolation, living alone in a cave in the wilderness for years before returning to unleash the climactic scenes back in Paris. So geographically, picture urban Paris and provincial Provence/Grasse separated by a wild, solitary hinterland — all set against the mid‑1700s backdrop of pre‑Revolutionary France.
4 답변2025-08-29 08:30:25
I’ve always been a sucker for weird, moody films, and yes — the novel you’re hinting at was made into a pretty famous movie. Patrick Süskind’s book 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer' was adapted as the 2006 film 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer', directed by Tom Tykwer and starring Ben Whishaw as Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, with Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman in supporting roles.
I saw it in a near-empty cinema one rainy evening, and the way it tried to turn smell into a visual and sonic experience still sticks with me. The movie trims and reshapes a lot of the book’s interior monologue — so while it captures the grotesque beauty and atmosphere, it can’t fully reproduce the novel’s obsessive, philosophical voice. If you’re curious beyond the film, there’s also a 2018 German TV series called 'Parfum' that’s loosely inspired by the same novel but resets the story in a modern crime-thriller context rather than doing a direct period adaptation.
On top of those screen versions, the book has inspired stage and radio productions in Europe, so if you’re into different media it’s fun to hunt those down. I’d recommend watching the film first for its visual daring, then diving into the book to get the inner texture that the movie simplifies.
4 답변2025-08-29 10:21:36
The lines that stuck with me most from 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer' are the ones that capture obsession and the almost religious awe for scent. When I first read it on a rainy afternoon, I kept pausing to underline passages that felt like secret confessions — not always literal quotes, but moments that read like prayers to smell. One paraphrase I often think about is how scent is described as a kind of language that speaks deeper than words; that idea keeps circling in my head when I walk past a bakery or a perfume counter.
Other memorable bits are the scenes where the narrator frames the protagonist’s actions as driven by an absolute, single-minded necessity. The prose treats smell as both weapon and worship, which makes lines about capturing an essence feel chilling and beautiful at once. Every time I catch a whiff of something unique now, I hear that internal, obsessive voice from the book nudging me — it’s oddly comforting and unnerving, and I adore that contradiction.
4 답변2025-08-29 05:40:31
There’s something deliciously creepy about scent being a murderer’s calling card, and I catch myself thinking about it whenever a whiff of cologne hits a subway car. In stories and in real life it does so many jobs at once: it can be identity, weapon, signature, and lie. A distinct perfume can mark a scene as belonging to someone — deliberately left to boast, to taunt, or to mislead. In fiction like 'Perfume' that obsession becomes monstrous, but in quieter mysteries a fragrance can quietly tell you about class, vanity, or the desire to be remembered.
I’ve had moments when the smell of lavender on a coat or an unfamiliar citrus cologne made me pause, imagining the person who left it behind. For investigators, scent can be a literal trace. Dogs pick it up, fibers soak it in, and chemical analysts can sometimes match components back to a brand or batch. But scent also messes with memory: it can make witnesses picture a lover instead of a stranger, or it can be used to stage intimacy that never happened.
Ultimately scent in a murderer’s perfume is a storytelling shortcut and a forensic headache. It humanizes the unseen attacker while complicating the truth, and every time I notice a lingering note in a scene I get pulled deeper into the mystery.
4 답변2025-08-29 03:49:54
There’s a dark kind of beauty at the center of 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer' that hooked me from page one: obsession. The story isn’t just about killings for shock value — it’s about a man so consumed by the idea of capturing the perfect scent that he loses every other human tether. Jean-Baptiste Grenouille’s quest turns creation into compulsion, and the novel asks what happens when artistry becomes a monster.
Beyond obsession, I felt the book probing identity and the senses. Grenouille has no personal scent, and that lack drives him to define himself through other people’s aromas. It’s a creepy reflection on how we use sensory markers to build selfhood and how the drive for perfection can strip away empathy. I also kept thinking about how Süskind skewers society — the way people blindly worship beauty or marvel at genius, sometimes excusing monstrous acts. Reading it on a rainy afternoon, I couldn’t shake the mixture of awe and revulsion, which, I think, is exactly what the novel aims for.
4 답변2025-08-29 14:36:54
Every now and then a book sneaks up on me and won't let go — 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer' is one of those. It was written by Patrick Süskind, a German novelist who published the book in 1985. The original German title is 'Das Parfum. Die Geschichte eines Mörders', and if you like dense, sensory prose, this one’s a wild ride: it follows Jean‑Baptiste Grenouille, a man with an uncanny sense of smell who becomes obsessed with creating the perfect scent.
I first read it curled up on a rainy afternoon and was surprised at how unsettling and poetic Süskind’s language is. There’s also a film adaptation (directed by Tom Tykwer) that people often mention, but the book’s interior descriptions of smell are what lingered for me. If you’re into dark, character-driven stories that read almost like a fable, give 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer' a shot — it’s haunting in a way I haven’t forgotten.
4 답변2025-08-29 18:11:09
This is a fun little hunt — I've actually gone looking for runtimes like this while deciding what to listen to on a long train ride. Availability and length for 'Perfume of the Murderer' can vary depending on the edition: some audiobooks are abridged, some unabridged, and different narrators or publishers sometimes split things differently.
From my experience with similar mystery novels, unabridged modern mysteries often land somewhere between 6 and 12 hours, while a shorter novella or a heavily abridged release could be 2–4 hours. If you want the exact number, the quickest ways I check are Audible, Google Play Books, or my library app (Libby/OverDrive) — they always list total runtime on the book page. Also keep in mind playback speed: listening at 1.25x or 1.5x shaves a lot of time without losing the voice work.
If you tell me which platform you plan to use (Audible, Libby, etc.), I can walk you through exactly where to find the runtime on that site or app. Otherwise, plan for roughly a half-day to a full-day of listening for an unabridged mystery, and enjoy the detective vibes on the commute!