Your House Smells Nice

[frameacloud]

Near the beginning of Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf, the protagonist Harry Haller made a strange remark. (One of many to follow, really.) The first thing he said when he entered was not “Good day,” but “Oh, this house smells good!” His hosts thought that was odd and a little rude. I made a guess about what he smelled that caught him so by surprise. The book said that the family was just picking up their dishes from the table, didn’t it? They had just cooked and eaten lunch, and that would have smelled nice… especially to a lean, scruffy wanderer who was searching for somewhere to stay. Who can blame a wolf of the steppes for using his nose to judge the safety of a place?

Later, Harry explained that it was an entirely different smell that had appealed to him. It was the scent of fastidiousness, a balanced normalcy that had grown unfamiliar and inaccessible to an itinerant and night-owl such as himself. I forget exactly what he said, but he was used to things being more of a mess, and keeping things clean and neat was more something that other people did. It was one of those things that he looked at as an outsider.

One thing remains curious to me here. Why is it weird and rude to remark on the smell of someone’s house? Anyone would take offense if they were told that their house smelled bad, but Harry was so struck by how nice it smelled that he just blurted it out. That sounds like a sincere and acceptable compliment.

(I read in a Victorian book of etiquette that the best compliments must be spontaneous, so they will come across as heartfelt, not calculated. I think that would result in some that sound very silly. Silly compliments can be touching too, so long as they're not fumbled completely.)

This subject was discussed in a chapter of Lynda Barry’s graphic novel autofictionbiography, One Hundred Demons. (That means it’s about Barry's youth, but she had to take some artistic license with the truth, and she’s presented it in the form of a comic book. The title refers to a Japanese tradition of competing in telling scary stories late into the night. She compares that story-telling to how a person is haunted by memories of their own troubles and enigmas, like that parade of ghosts.) As a child, Barry was fascinated by the smells of people’s houses. She made these observations: each house-smell is as unique as the family who lives there. It’s curious that nobody is able to tell what their own house smells like. However, most people take offense if you try to talk to them about it, as if it’s Too Much Information. She thought it was a very mysterious taboo, and it became more important when it came to interacting with a certain family on her block.

Comments

[klitaka.livejournal.com]

Each house-smell is as unique as the family who lives there.

Smells are very closely tied into memory, as well. I don't mean to say that it's easy to remember what something smelled like (being able to recall exact smells or tastes is probably an innate trait, like perfect pitch -- the recalling of exact notes). I mean, that a whiff of something will stir the brain and dredge up old memories of places one thought forgotten.

It's not just places people live, either -- there are different smells outdoors at the onset of fall, then winter (it has a cold smell), and then spring (which has a bright smell). Smells for different times of year, and different regions. For example, Eastern Washington and the Palouse have entirely different smells than Western Washington.

[jolantru.livejournal.com]

*nods*

I do that too.

[baxil.livejournal.com]

I don't know why smells are so taboo, but they are. It's not just houses. People's body scents are totally off-limits. (Even for compliments: saying "You smell nice!" to a stranger comes across as creepy. Partial exception if you're careful to point out that you're referring to the fragrance they're wearing. But then it's a commentary on their fashion sense, their ability to pick out a pleasing product, rather than any inherent quality of theirs.)

My best guess would be that scent is seen as an intimate sense; that we are allowed to smell others only in the same contexts as sexual contact. Further speculation is left to the reader.