This week I read a wonderful book by fragrance lover Jan Moran called Scent of Triumph (review to follow on the blog this week) in which perfume and the aromas of nature feature heavily. The book struck a chord with me because I have always felt scents have such power to transport one to different times and places, and they are so interconnected with memory and emotion. Freshly brewed coffee can take you back to a cosy afternoon spent with a dear friend in café; the heady scent of bougainvillea can call to mind a lazy summer’s afternoon reading a book in the garden; a waft of cologne from a man passing in the street can bring to your mind the embrace of a lover.

My novel, Burning Embers, is set in 1970s Kenya, and when I came to write the book I used as a basis for setting descriptions my experience of visiting the country as a young woman. When I closed my mind and recalled the place, along with the bright colours and distinctive sounds I found myself remembering scents. Because I wanted my reader to also know the place, I was careful to include those fragrance memories in my writing, as in the following:

The air was heavy with redolent scents. It was all coming back to her now: the blend of tar, sea, ropes, moldy timber, spices, and dry fish that haunts every port but which Coral mentally associated with Kenya and her childhood.

…

Surrounded by a high wall of hedges, a narrow wooden gate marked its entrance and the beginning of the scented walk into the center of the enclosure. The dappled tunnel of classic arches, overgrown with white honeysuckle and delicate pink trumpet vines, led to the Roman-inspired pavilion at the center where the altar had been set up. Artifact containers were dotted around the enclosure, spilling over with a profusion of sweet-smelling white flowers and greenery, adding lush fragrance to the surroundings.

…

There was a vague smell of decay mingled with the balsamic odor of precious woods and resin that the witch doctor was burning.

But beyond the description of the setting, I have always felt that the sense of smell is key in attraction between two people. Scientists talk of pheromones and chemical compatibility conveyed through scent, and the popularity of the fragrance industry bears testament to the fact that it is how a person smells to you, as much as how they look and sound and feel and act, that creates a need to be close. And so Rafe finds Coral’s scent alluring: ‘Rafe leaned in to whisper in Coral’s ear, and she felt him breathe in her scent like a man thirsting in the desert who had finally found water.’ And Coral is similarly affected by Rafe’s scent: ‘As he stepped back to let her pass, a whiff of cologne that mingled with the clean, manly scent of his skin tickled her nostrils, sending unwelcome tremors through her body.’

One of my favourite interactions in dialogue between Rafe and Coral in the book is when Coral, having been invited on a date with Rafe, asks, ‘What should I wear?’ His response is simple and sensual, ‘Your favorite scent and a smile.’

What is fascinating about scent, I think, is that we all have unique individual interpretations and preferences. One person’s heaven is another’s poison. One person smells nothing much; another a plethora of intermingled scents. One person smells freshly cut grass, another autumn leaves. One woman’s perfume smells floral and delicate, yet on another’s wrist it is muskier, headier.

There are so many scents, with so many meanings, but that which carries you to a place of passion and love is the most powerful. Do you agree? What is your favourite perfume? How do you love a partner to smell? I would love to hear your thoughts.