38 Books Like The Emperor of Scent

This is THE book to read on the senses, so I’m stating the obvious here. But let me tell you why it must be at the top of my list. Diane Ackerman takes us through a series of sensuous experiences, from extreme cold to a delicious massage to a thought-provoking meal.

But what’s remarkable is that because she’s a poet, her words pull you out of your mind and into your eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and skin cells. Here’s just one line. “Words are small shapes in the gorgeous chaos of the world. But they are shapes; they bring the world into focus, corral ideas, hone thoughts, paint watercolors of perception.” Like it? This book is full of them, and they left me tingling.

Gordon Shepherd gave the developing science of neurogastronomy – which studies how the human brain perceives food from the information processed through smell, taste, sight, touch, and hearing – its name. A leading expert on olfaction, he is perfectly qualified to draw the link between aroma and flavor, and why Luca Turin would claim that smell provides 90 percent of what we taste. His description of the importance of retronasal smell, and the mechanics involved, turned a term that was fun to toss around tasting beer with friends into a revelation.

When I started getting interested in smell as my primary area of research this was one of the first books I picked up and what a fantastic introduction. The material is written in a straightforward fashion that anyone with an interest in smell can easily digest.

Gilbert’s vast scientific experience allows him to pen engaging prose that provide the reader with an intricate and nuanced understanding of the science of smell that is far from just introductory. The book is a little old, it is aging well and hopefully it will entice you to learn even more about the chemosciences. So much exciting cutting-edge research has come out in these past few years.

Harold McGee, known for his books on cooking, brings molecules to life in Nose Dive. The book truly is a field guide, with tables throughout listing the source of aroma compounds, the components smell, and the responsible molecules. For instance, looking at molecules explains why Europeans might think American garden strawberries smell more like pineapple than strawberry. Nose Dive is also inspiring. “When we nose an intriguing flower or finger a leaf or sip a cola, and take the time to sniff repeatedly and searchingly for component smells, we experience their qualities more fully than when we smell with brain on autopilot,” McGee writes.

In Neurogastronomy, Gordon Shepherd likens smells to human faces, writing that they are easy to recognize but hard to describe. In Flavor, Bob Holmes introduces readers to a small tribe of nomadic hunter-gatherers in Malaysia, the Jahai, who have more than a dozen words to describe smells, none of which relate to the smell of any particular object. Vocabulary, he writes, is something we can learn with little effort. His experiences with chefs, gastronomy experts, and food scientists may inspire readers to find personal vocabularies. In the end, he writes, “What’s important is that coming up with a description forces me to pay attention and paying attention enriches my flavor experience.”

I’ve been fascinated by all living organisms since my early childhood on Long Island. In our suburban yard, I would sit raptured, watching the hunting techniques of praying mantises, the burrowing ability of earthworms, or the seemingly drunk behavior of cedar waxwings after feasting on over-ripe berries. But I never fully appreciated the intricacies of animal behavior until I read this book. 

What Ed Yong masterfully achieves in this 400-page text is neither a Disney-like humanizing of other species nor an overly scientific explanation of how creatures respond to their environment. Rather, he brings us to a place where we are no longer perceiving other organisms through human eyes but through their own complex senses. 

This greatly increased my fascination with the natural world and, consequently, my need to preserve every precious species on this earth.

This is a book about how our different experiences of the senses unite and divide us, as explored through Braille Without Borders, which was the first school for the blind in Tibet.

It’s about how self-actualized and independent many blind people are, even as they inhabit a world that views blindness as one of the worst things that could happen to a person, even a curse. For the students at this school, who’ve sometimes been ostracized in their communities, school is an opportunity many of their sighted peers don’t have, further complicating their relationships. For me, it was a reminder of something basic about vision. 

We don’t know how to use sight when we’re born. We must learn it. And that early experience changes the lens through which we see for the rest of our lives.

This is my curveball selection because it’s fiction. It’s a dystopian book about our disconnection from our sense of touch, and it so well highlights our fears about technology cutting us off from true experiences. It tells the story of Sloan, who works at a company whose consumers prefer virtual relationships and whose partner believes in something called “post-sexual sex.” 

But she slowly realizes that people, including herself, are feeling deprived, and she goes on a journey to fight for connection. If I had a criticism of this book as fiction only, I’d say it feels very obviously topical in a way that sometimes detracts from the narrative. But as a treatise on the value of touch, it delivers entirely.

At the center of this rollicking account is the larger-than-life figure of Luca Turin, a perfume aficionado and renegade biophysicist with an uncannily sensitive nose.

Burr followed him as he traded blows with the scientific establishment over his unorthodox theory of how smell works. What emerges is a profound appreciation of just how little understood this sense still is, and how varied and potent the smells of the world are to someone as attentive to them as Turin.

I used Ian Wilson’s book as the basis for my very first book on the Shroud. My brother gave it to me, and it was this book that was truly inspirational. I was drawn to how Wilson masterfully blends scientific inquiry with detailed historical accounts. 

I don’t know how he found so many historical references to the Shroud. I loved his meticulous approach to unraveling the story of the Shroud of Turin, which felt like a detective story rooted in faith and fact. I couldn’t put it down because it made me think, question, and marvel all at once. It is now an important reference for my next book.