I remember sleeping with the window open, as the night air was filled with the scents of the flowering trees that grew outside my grandparents' house. White, waxen, and filled with the most beautiful, deep, richly floral scent that even as a 5-year old I could feel was seductive without ever knowing the meaning or the existence of the word. They were huge, each petal as wide as a fingernail.
Those jasmines would put the pitiful little star jasmines to shame. I remember as a child, growing up in Vietnam, visiting my elderly neighbor's house and having him give me a cup of black tea infused with jasmine. I have never been a visual person, my memories are composed of layers of scent. The fact that this book had blood and murder was just a bonus.įor me, perfumes and scents are a visceral thing.
I was predisposed to love this book no matter what.
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