Of all the human senses, I find smell the hardest to use in writing. And yet, it’s one of the most powerful, as a number of studies have shown it’s hard-wired into our brain, and a shortcut to all sorts of strong emotions. So why is it so hard to find the right word for a smell?
Turns out, I’m hardly the only one in this predicament. As a recent Economist article on scents recently explained, the human sense of smell itself is weak. Scientists suspect this is the result of an evolutionary trade-off in the primate brain in favor of visual procession power. In simple terms, we see great, but we couldn’t smell ourselves out of a perfume factory.
This is of particular interest to humans, as the relative weakness of smell compared with sight extends to language, too. Humans have no difficulty putting names to colors but are notoriously bad at putting names to odors. This may be a matter of how our brain is wired. Linguists, however, suspect it’s more likely a consequence of the tendency of languages to contain words useful to their speakers. Since smells matter little to most people, most languages have few abstract words for them.
Enter Dr. Majid And The Jahai
Recent research conducted by Dr. Majid in Malaysia seems to support this theory. Jahai, a group of hunter-gatherers who live in western Malaysia, are remarkably good at naming odors. When she asked some Jahai, and some Americans to name colors and odors they were presented with, the Americans generally agreed with one another when it came to naming colors but not when putting names to odors. When presented with cinnamon, for example, they described it variously as sweet, spicy, wine, candy, edible and potpourri. When presented with baby powder they offered vanilla, wax, baby oil, toilet paper, dentist office, hand lotion, rose and bubble gum as descriptions. Jahai answers, in contrast, were in equal agreement about both odors and colors.
This might, in part, be because the Jahai have a dozen words dedicated to describing different sorts of smells in the abstract (the equivalent of color-words such as red, blue, black and white, of which there are generally reckoned to be 11 in English). For example, the Jahai use the word “cŋεs” for stinging sorts of smells associated with petrol, smoke and various insects, and “plʔeŋ” for bloody, fishy and meaty sorts of smells. According to Dr. Majid, only “musty” is able to act in this way in English without drawing on analogy (banana-like, gooseberry-noted, and even earthy and sweet-smelling, are all analogies of some sort).
Given these findings, the scientists argue that it is the hunting-and-gathering way of life, rather than the use of a particular language, that is crucial to the use of abstract names for odors. Presumably, the business of surviving by eating what the forest has to offer requires a more discriminating use of the nostrils than is needed for farming.
What About Writing?
What does this mean for your writing? Unless your story takes place during a wine tasting, the easiest way to explain a smell to your reader in a way that triggers an emotional response is through an analogy or a metaphor.
“The tiny room stank of sweat and despair” carries more emotional punch than if you tried to describe the actual scent of sweat and immediately creates a foreboding, claustrophobic environment.
Accordingly, “She sashayed out of the sea, dripping, her chocolate skin smelling of coconut and sea salt and sunshine” readily evokes a sexy woman’s dip into the Caribbean.
So, unless you’re discussing wine, forego fancy words like “gooseberry-noted” and “sweet tanin” and grab the reader by their nose!
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Thank you, Mariann, I’d be delighted if you’d share my posts! Apologies for the late response; your comment somehow ended up in the Spam folder. Sorry!
Hi Nicholas and Perro, I have a topic you might want to explore next — how a woman (not on the birth control pill)’s sense of smell is so much more discriminating than a man’s. When I went off the pill, my husband’s sweat suddenly smelled like a cross between stinky feet and rotting cantaloupe — a smell I recognized from the grass seats at an Asia concert in 1983 (which my friend said was hashish). I soon determined that my husband’s late nights at work were really smoking pot with his married Chinese girlfriend, who he’d been seeing before he ever met me, whirlwind romanced, and quickly married. When her husband finally forced her to move to Colorado, my husband started flying once a month to a customer in California, always connecting through Denver International. Finally, he caught them again, so that was the end of his year-long affair. My husband then suddenly started tracking my cell phone location and my computer account, and harassing me about MY every move, so that was the end of our marriage. A sense of smell can get you everywhere, and it tipped me off to start “sniffing around.”
Oh my God, that’s the most amazing comment ever posted on this blog–even though I’m sorry about the implosion of your marriage. It must have been a very stressful time for you.
Thank you for this post. Smells are so important when setting a scene. Strawberries e.g the scent can instantly transport a reader to the scene.
Couldn’t agree more! It’s a shame words fail us here 🙂
🙂
Such a wonderful post Nicholas. Thank you. 🙂
Thank you 😀
And once again, saved to favorites.
Much appreciated!!
Adding another comment here on odors and how Americans see it compared to the Jahai. Yes, it makes perfect sense that the tribe would be more accurate and sensitive to these smells, as you point out in the article. It’s part of their survival, to find things to eat, etc. And, it’s interesting how Americans have different answers for the smell of cinnamon, but not really surprising since we use cinnamon spice to cook/bake, the scent is used in candles, candy, and potpourri. And I think most of that is mentioned in the people’s responses. Anyway, I didn’t realize our sense of smell was so weak! It’s interesting to note though, that I love when I smell something while walking outside or the like and a memory from my childhood pops into my head. It’s a great trip down memory lane and I cherish those moments. 🙂
I’d once read that the sense of smell takes a shortcut into the brain, which is why it’s so quick to connect with memories. Fascinating stuff!
Indeed!
Hello Nicholas! Very interesting post! You’re right, the sense of smell is the most difficult to describe. I’ve struggled with it at times, but when you get it right it adds so much to your story. Very helpful post. Thank you! 😀
Thanks. One thing I’ve learned from the article is to use analogies, as they seem to be our default way of understanding odors. Quite the challenge, isn’t it? 🙂
A great post, Nicholas. I remember someone asking me what lilacs smelled like and I stood there for a few moments trying to think of the words to convey the beauty of their scent. Words like sweet, lovely, lilacs came to mind but nothing that truly expressed the wonderful scent I remembered. To me, lilacs are waking up to a glorious scent of my mother’s huge lilac bush outside my window. I can still smell them today.
Maybe that’s part of the problem: smells are so intricately tied up to memories, and memories and individual by nature!
That so many writers seem to find it difficult to incorporate the sense of smell into their works is puzzling, to me. The first novel I wrote is full of references to scents, and like everything else about the story, I didn’t plan it that way. I didn’t do anything fancy when describing a smell, and in every case it seemed like a natural aspect of my experiencing the scene, as I wrote it. A few years ago, I wrote three blog posts about this: “The Nose Knows” (https://wp.me/p30cCH-63), “More Olfactory Observations” (https://wp.me/p30cCH-6c), and “Don’t Give Me the Stink Eye, But…” (https://wp.me/p30cCH-72).
I apologize for the late response; the comment got stuck in Pending for some reason. Thank you for the great links! I’m fascinated by anyone who manages to include scents in their prose, let alone someone who does so without even thinking! I’ll definitely include some of the examples cited in your posts in a future post (referencing you, of course) 🙂
Perhaps I’m very attuned to smells (and my writing shows it) because I may have more Neanderthal DNA than many other people do. 🙂 Three years ago, pernicious anemia and cancer conspired to rob me of my sense of smell, and the sensory deprivation was dreadful. Losing the sense of smell also deprives one of the sense of taste, which leads to loss of appetite (not a good thing, when heavy-duty healing is needed). Over the past year, I’ve recovered some of my olfactory nerve function, although it’s not anything like it used to be. Nerve damage can take a very long time to repair.
I’m glad you enjoyed the links. BTW, my comment probably got stuck in Pending because it has three shortlinks, and the WordPress default setting for screening comments is to hold them for approval if they include 2 or more links. The theory is that any comment which has multiple links must be spam. The setting can be changed (it’s on the Dashboard menu under “Discussion”), to prevent comments from getting sucked into the WP black hole.
Wow, an amazing tale. I hope you regain both your sense of smell and taste 🙁
Thanks for the WP tip! I had no idea 🙂
This is a great post! I often struggle with how to convey smells to people, as my limited non-academic writing often has to do with experiences in the outdoors – where scents matter.
It’s good to know you’re not alone, isn’t it? 😀
It certainly is!
I could try to combine smell, wine, and romance, the perfect combination, in my book!
“That kiss tasted of the fine Chianti she had just sipped, her breath redolent of that Tuscan grape.”
🙂 Best wishes, Pete.
I can almost taste said kiss 😀
“My work is done”. 🙂
Great post, Nicholas. In my novel, Nude, Light Housekeeping, I have several scents and aromas that play a part in the story. One of my favorites is a naturally occurring scent that seldom makes itself known and never lasts long. In my neighborhood, I only notice it in mid-autumn, when green leaves remain on some trees and those that have already fallen create a colorful mosaic on the ground before they dry to blend in with the drab earth. Add a little moisture and the sugars that remain in the leaves ferment, or so I believe. This aroma of freshly-opened wine leaves a special tang in the air that I’ve called Autumn Wine for better than fifty years. It’s a delicate bouquet that a breeze can disperse, is easily overpowered by stronger scents, and I look forward to it for months each year. The conditions that create it don’t happen every autumn and that makes it even more special to me. I last encountered it some three years ago and I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes to the distractions that surrounded me. As always, it takes me back half a century and more to when I first discovered this delightful and elusive scent, and I smiled. Autumn Wine.
Wow, that’s so evocative! We have something similar here (I can almost smell it as we speak, if I close my eyes and focus) thanks to the pine needles on the ground. Thank you, Bill!
This is so relatable. It is crazy how many memories a familiar smell brings back. Sometimes, I find myself standing on the road and suddenly, a person with a familiar smell passes by. It’s impossible to write it down but it is the best feelings ever.
I know! Now, if we could only capture it with words… 😀
Quick Question–I’m following two of your blogs, but they have duplicate content. This one and one other…I get notifications for both but should I just follow one, and which one, to help cut down on my morning email (apologies to hijack your blog with this query.) Thanks! I can still follow both, but I get email notifications so I don’t lose track of favourite blogs.
Hi Willow, thanks for your question! You’re right, I duplicate my content on the wordpress.com one in order to reach people through the Reader, and to allow people to Reblog my posts. If you have need for either of these two functions, please unsubscribe from my nicholasrossis.me blog. Otherwise, please unsubscribe from the nicholasrossis.wordpress.com one. I hope this helps 🙂
Oh yes…thanks! WordPress, it is, then! 🙂
Interesting and helpful post, Nicholas. 🙂 — Suzanne
Thank you, Suzanne 😀
So right! The sense of smell is usually the most underused sense in writing, but it helps the scene come even more alive with it! I try to remember it, but now that you’ve brought this up….I think I’ve neglected to add it in several chapters of my WIP! Well, I’ll have to go back when I finally get the first draft done, and add aromas to the scenes. 😀 Thanks for the great post!
Lol-thank God for editing 😀
Yes!!