One of the most thoughtful and polemical writings on perfumery, Edmond Roudnitska's booklet Le Parfum, sadly went out of print a few years ago. Although a classic in its own right, it showed too many signs of old age to be reproposed to the general public in the "Que sais-je"-series. To fill this unforgivable void, the publishers asked Jean-Claude Ellena to write a new booklet on perfumery under the same title. And much to my personal delight, it's finally available: I got my copy through French online bookstore fnac.
If you expect this new title to be the 2.0 version of its famous predecessor, you're in for a big disappointment. Ellena has his own story to tell: whereas Roudnitska's booklet was first and foremost a critical pamphlet (convincing lawmakers to attribute official artistic status to perfumery, in order to protect it from plagiarism), Ellena primarily focuses on his personal experiences in the field, leading us through some of his well-known creations to explain what he regards as the essence of his profession.
That profession, of course, has everything to do with olfaction. In a chapter dedicated to the sense of smell, Ellena discusses matters of sensitivity, perception, and the ability to distinguish fragrances from each other. I've always been intrigued by that last phenomenon; even more so since I've read Ellena's comment on that subject:
I can't think of anything that doesn't have a smell. As an apprentice, not only did I learn to make the olfactory distinction between a jasmin concrete from Egypt, Italy or Grasse, but also to determine from which evaporator the absolute was obtained: be it made of copper, tin, stainless steel, or a glass balloon. [...] In time, I learned to recognize the round odor obtained from copper, the elegant odor produced by tin, the metallic effect of stainless steel, and the flat odor generated by glass. This goes to show that with a little training, one can effectively learn to discriminate odors. (p. 25-26)
The ability to discriminate odors is only a small element in the perfumer's profession as a whole, but it's all the more important for someone as selective as Ellena. In his view, to create means to choose — and in the past 20 years, he effectively reduced his palette (he calls it his "collection") from 1000 to 200 ingredients:
There are about 20 cedar notes available on the market, but I only need four of them; of all the moss absolutes, I use only one; as for methyl ionones, alpha-ketone (known for its refinement) simply lacks character, therefore I use a variant that is five times cheaper, but with a much wider and more elegant odor characteristic. (p. 41)
To give you an idea of his sense of minimalism, Ellena has used a total of just 130 components for his last 10 creations. While this 60-year-old perfumer has nothing against the notion of progress, he likes to keep things as simple and down-to-earth as possible:
Despite all the software applications that help us with our formulations nowadays, I prefer to write my formulae down on a piece of paper, with 30 lines and 6 columns. That way I always have a general overview of the formula, and I can easily make technical or aesthetical annotations if necessary. I use the software to check for IFRA regulation conformities and pricing. (p. 45)
Intuition plays an important part in Ellena's compositions. His work revolves around curiosity, creativity, and the refusal to conform to rigid methods. And, perhaps just as importantly, he truly enjoys his job. His description of the creative process behind Hermès Un Jardin sur le Nil is a clear proof of that. On inspiration he writes:
I am a pilferer, a thief, a scavenger of odors. To me, nature is a pretext, a point of departure, not a source of artistic inspiration. [...] In my perfumes, I don't try to emulate the odor of tea, flour, or figs as they effectively are. To create is to interpret odors by changing them into signs. These signs need to convey a specific meaning, like green tea becoming the sign of Japan, flour becoming the sign of skin, or mango the sign of Egypt. It's more than a simple knowledge-based craft; I write down these creations in a style and taste that are my own. You can copy my way of writing, but it's not transmittable; in that sense, it has entered the realm of art. (p. 59)
There are many other topics covered in this little book, ranging from the perfumer's vocabulary to the role of marketing. There's even an interesting remark on perfume classification, one of the few instances where the author raises a more polemical voice:
I've taken part in the perfume classification committee of the Société Française des Parfumeurs*, but nowadays I wonder what its use really is. Only few people are able to imagine what fern smells like; most don't know what it's composed of, and have no idea what the combination smells like. [...] In today's olfactory classifications, I believe that the most valuable information lies in the perfume's date of creation, it's name, and the name of the brand that launched it on the market. The date allows us to put perfumes in an evolutionary perspective (as long as we are able to smell them), while product names and brands give us some indication of the degree of creativity involved in each company. (p. 77-78)
I'm sure that some members of the SFP will frown at this comment. For the readers of Now Smell This, on the other hand, the best is yet to come! In chapter six Ellena devotes two paragraphs on the phenomenon of perfume criticism, which he sees as a positive development for perfumery. He mentions Chandler Burr's appointment as the New York Times perfume critic, and goes on to praise the editors and commenters of Now Smell This:
In my view it's a demonstration of genuine interest in perfumes and the perfumer's profession. In their comments they applaud young talent and new approaches to perfumery; this allows us to briefly forget those top-10 lists of bestselling fragrances, which don't provide any critical insight at all, other than revealing what percentage of the consumers were seduced by which product. (p.80)
On that high note, it's time to wrap it up. Le Parfum is a good introduction to perfumery, most of all a great resource for novices, and for Ellena-fans too. Although some parts have been published earlier (I read a paragraph in chapter one which I instantly recognized), and while it cannot replace Roudnitska's scholarly work from the same series, it offers a wonderful insight into the views and opinions of one of the greatest perfumers of our times.
Le Parfum is available through several online bookstores, and costs around 10.00 USD (or 7.60 EUR).
Jean-Claude Ellena (b. 1947) also co-wrote Mémoires du Parfum (2003) with Josette Gontier.
Bonus reading (if you read French): a very nice recent interview with Ellena!
Le Parfum
Paris: Presses Universitaires de France (Sept. 2007)
Softcover, 128 pages
* see also: Marcello's review of Classification des Parfums et Terminologie.
THANK … YOU … GREATLY … for directing us to an interesting read, Marcello. I'll have it ordered before day's end. Smooch!
Hi! Wonderful review, I can't wait to check it out. Question: Is the book itself in French?
I forgot to mention that… indeed, it's in French!
Marcello, fascinating stuff. Does the book refer to NST specifically, or to all the perfume blogs as a genre? It's encouraging to know that The Great Ones may lurk here and pay attention…
You're welcome!
VanillaGirl, he specifically refers to NST! I must have read that paragraph three or four times before it actually sunk in… I was SO excited! 🙂
Thank you for the fascinating review!
And congratulations to NST for the mention!
*Faints* Robin, you are visible in the heavens!
You're welcome, and thank you!
Marcello, many thanks for this great review! Will take up French promptly…
And how cool that JCE actually reads NST!! Yey! Robin, it appears that your love of JCE is very much a mutual affair 😉 Kudos to NST and all of us (how modest of me) for the mention!
I fainted too! And had to be revived with a good spray of Kelly Caleche, LOL…
thank you for your kind words, Dusan!
I'm sure your review has done justice to this fascinating piece of work from the great JCE. Thank you, Marcello. I am particularly fascinated by the paring down of ingredients – surely that is where the hallmark of his perfumes lie – when we smell and say “Oh yes, JCE!” what we are smelling are some of the same ingredients but in different compositions.
Well done on being mentioned, NST! More than justified.
Off to brush up O level french with the aid of a good dictionary.
Wow! The little books in the Que sais-je? series – as its name indicates, 'What do I know?' – are meant to provide introductions to specific topics, basic, essential information, and they are usually in print for decades. Most French people own one or several of those cute books (I do – about the theatre; bought them 40 years ago). To be mentioned in one of them is indeed a great honour. Congratulations, Robin! 🙂
Thanks J, I am QUITE thrilled!
So you should be: I would kill to be mentioned in one of them. 🙂
Robin, wouldn't it be a great idea to do an interview with the esteemed Monsieur Ellena? Would he agree, I wonder?
Hugs!
I stopped doing interviews, sadly — all sorts of reasons but it just didn't work out well. And note that he did mention me, but hasn't invited me to dinner just yet 😉
LOL, but I do hope that if and when he decides to give an interview to a perfume blog, it is on NST.
An off-topic q: have you tried Yatagan yet and would you like to try Wet by D. Ropion?
This is a great book summary; very enjoyable and intriguing. I only wish my intermediate French were good enough to read the original text (then again, reading it is much easier than speaking or listening…).
I love the whole concept of training the nose; while certainly there's much “innate” talent required to be a renowned perfumer, we don't often think about the fact that nose and palate are senses we can actually “train” to be more discerning. Imagine sniffing an absolute and being able to detect the material of which an evaporator was made?! I also enjoy the concept of the pared-down “palette” of notes, and the idea of recognizing “olfactory arts” on the same level as any other art.
Thanks so much for writing about this, Marcello.
Got to love a man who says “formulae” (as it should be!)
And congrats Robin!!
Donanicola, I should add that I've only highlighted a few aspects of Ellena's approach to perfumery – there is much more to it than the things I've described in my review. It's a great little booklet, and not very difficult to read! (Even if French is not your mother tongue.)
Bela, “'What do I know?'” is exactly right! I never really thought of it that way! (But then again, what do I know?)
🙂
My pleasure, Joe, and thank you for your kind words! I can't imagine being able to discern materials the way Ellena does. Pretty amazing.
LOL, “formulae” it is! 😀
I did try Yatagan, finally! Took me long enough. Great scent. And would love to try Wet!
What did you think it meant, then, Marcello? (I'm French, you know.) 🙂
Excellent review, Marcello and congrats, Robin! I just finished reading the book, and I was about to email Robin about the exciting mention, when I came here and saw the post. Mr. Ellena is a very gracious man indeed. A praise from him is special.
Bela, in English “What do I know?” also means: “Qu'est ce que j'en sais moi?” (as in: “don't ask me!”). I didn't realize that the translation could have such a funny double meaning!
Thank you Victoria!
Since the English translation of 'Que sais-je?' is 'What do I know?' I was surprised you hadn't thought of its facetious meaning before then, that's why I asked what you thought it meant. You say you didn't 'realize it could have such a funny double meaning', so my question still is: how *did* you translate 'Que sais-je?' so that that meaning didn't appear? Or did you just not think about it since you understood the French?
For my part, I do know the different meanings of English phrases (serious and humorous). It's my job to make sure I do: I've been a translator for 35 years, and lived in the UK for 28 of those years.
As well as 'Qu'est ce que j'en sais, moi?”, 'What do *I* know?' also translates more simply as 'Est-ce que je sais, moi?', pronounced 'Est-ce que j'sais, moi?' and with a shrug of the shoulders. ('Moi' being added to translate the stress on *I* in the English sentence, as I'm sure you know).
Hey V, send me an email anyway, LOL…
Bela, I always read it as the reflexive, self-critical question it is (“what do I actually know about…?”) and basically stopped there (lol, the irony!). But this thread got me thinking, so I did a quick search on the net. I found that the name of this series was in fact borrowed from the French humanist Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592), known for his notion of self-inquiry and skepticism, and for his endless curiosity about life. “Que sais-je?” was his own, personal motto – he actually carried a medal with those words embossed on it. For him they were not about dismissiveness or shrugging shoulders of course, but a reminder to practice honest and critical thinking. That's not only an incredibly cool thing to do, but also a very appropriate name for a popular encylopaedic series… thank you for your kind input, it's been enlightening!
Of course, Montaigne! How could I forget? We studied him thoroughly at school (around the age of 15, probably a bit too early in our lives). He was a lovely man: someone one would want to be friends with. Indeed, no 'dismissiveness or shrugging shoulders' in his case – or any other, since the French, in that form, doesn't have such connotations.