The smell of a good book

Admit it. You’ve been known to sniff a book but I bet you’ve never sniffed your phone. The smell of a freshly printed book is a sensory experience that isn’t matched by picking up an e-reader or sniffing your phone as you read this post. But if you have just sniffed your phone, you’ve probably discovered a truth about both yourself, and books. A fresh book is infinitely better. And you are a bit weird! There is an unknown depth to a book that comes to holding one in your hands and breathing deeply. Between the pages there is more than just words and stories – there's anticipation, comfort, joy and maybe even a hint of nostalgia as the aroma of a good book hits your nose. It turns out humans can detect a trillion different odours, and the bouquet of a good book is one of them.

If you’ve ever been around young children, or been one (winky face) you’ll have discovered early on that books are a full on sensory experience. There’s paper to touch (or rip) which could be smooth and shiny,fine and gold edged, or rough and ochre coloured. There are images to pore over, words to listen to and absorb, and a distinctive smell of paper and ink. I remember the excitement of a book week where my carefully chosen book was delivered to my desk, riffling the pages to inhale my new entertainment for the summer. I remember the smell of books with coloured plates, pulled from my parent’s book shelves as I explored the underwater world of Jacque Cousteau. And I remember the smell of trips to the library.

The smell of books comes from the combination of paper and ink and over time these break down. As the book gets older, they release chemical compounds which are good reminders that a book is rooted in plants and bottles of ink. The recipe for a good book aroma includes lignin which is found in the paper. Lignin is a chemical closely related to Vanillin and emits a sweet, slightly musky aroma. Cellulose in the paper, the plant matter that helps make the pages strong and stiff, hasn’t forgotten its roots and releases grassy hints and an almondy smell. Ink changes too and like a fine wine, vintage books end up with an aroma that a connoisseur would liken to the smell of soot and second-hand bookshops

I visited the secondhand book sellers in Colombo on Dr. Wijewardene Mawatha in Maradhana on a trip to Sri Lanka. The area was a cacophany of tuk tuks and the distinctive sound of Koel birds, whilst the stores are open to the road and filled with teetering piles of books. These shelves, and floors, hold a historical record of cloth bound volumes with mottled pages; paperbacks from the 60’s; and modern novels left by tourists. This was a cellar full of richly scented books and the aromas of vintages aging at their own pace. I ended up buying a slim volume called Birds of Ceylon published in 1949. It’s full of coloured illustration plates; a dedication written in fountain pen, and it even has a hole from the front cover to the back where a single woodworm enjoyed the book before me. The scent of the book, now housed in a display cabinet, reminds me of not only the time I spent in the tiny bookshops, but also of the chai I had in Cafe Kumbuk where I got to browse through the pages of my new book.

All books end up having a unique scent. Their journey from pulp to printing press to shop to your hands leaves a trace. Your own story and where you’ve taken it adds to the life of the book. I love books . And the one I own which has the richest scent, is To Kill A Mockingbird. But the story of that book is for another time...