Optical Scentsibilities: imitation is the sincerest form of flattery

Surely you have heard the above dictum: "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery". It's actually a quote by Charles Caleb Colton (1780 - 1832) Lacon, volume I, no. 183. The man had won a place in my heart for his other quote: "Many books require no thought from those who read them, and for a very simple reason; they made no such demand upon those who wrote them". But perhaps it is irrelevant to perfume advertising, so let's focus on the first one.

Now you might call me wicked and you might call me laborious in search (and I might be both), but don't you get an eerie resemblance between those two images? F by Ferragamo, by the way lauched in 2006 while Femme by Rochas was advertised thus some years ago. And one might argue that the hand on the nape is a classic pose anyway. After all, there are other examples of such images in advertising. But I propose to you that this duo is a bit eye-catching. The position of the hands, the choice of angle, even the dishevelled hair! Don't you think?

And then of course there are the instances in which there is some imagery that, although quite common and classic in positioning, angles, shades and all the paraphernalia of photography and art synthesis, inspires itself another copy.

Directly, I might add and not indirectly, which might be understandable and quite common. We have numerous times stressed the importance of influence here at the Shrine. However, yes, this artwork at the right hand is indeed an actual painting, meant to be hung at somebody's wall. And if you pay a minimal amount of attention you will notice that not only it reproduces the pose, shades and general feel but the people depicted are the spitting image of the models appearing on the Ralph Lauren advertisment of Romance (Lauren's romantic approach to scents for women and for men launched a few years ago).
To me, this is a case of cart leading the horse instead of vice versa...




Many more exciting optical scentsibilities soon and please be tuned in for a review of a smashing sexy scent shortly!

Ads from imagesdesparfum and parfumsdepub. Artwork Insieme I by Escha courtesy of angelart.com

The Dior Chypres series ~1.the hidden force: Edmond Roudnitska

Edmond Roudnitska

Perfume Shrine embarked on a mission: to disect and discuss one of the bastions of chypre: la maison Dior in its former glory, when under the baguette of Edmond Roudnitska and Paul Vacher it produced classics that remain up there in the pantheon for all of us to worship.

Edmond Roudnitska is probably the one name you simply need to drop if you want to appear as if you have at least a passing knowledge of scent. Of course name dropping is completely ridiculous, especially when used to prove that someone knows anything about anything, but the practice does not diminish the value of this Ukranian émigré who started as an assistant to Ernest Beaux; the Russian perfumer to the czars who made the legend of Chanel parfums almost single-handedly. Did his apprenticeship serve him well? More than that.

Roudnitska became much more than an artist of high calibre in the fragrant galaxy or a point of reference. He also pondered theoretically on the subject of perfume through his prolific writing and his polemic to establish perfume creation as an art form, especially in his book “Le parfum” in the “Que sais-je?” series (now out of print), “L’ésthetique en question” and “L’intimité du parfum”. But the dialectic he inaugurated has survived in his dictum (from a speech given on 20 November 1952 in Paris):

“For it to be considered Art, smell ceases to be a sense to be satisfied to rather become a medium. Thus perfumes will be spiritual compositions and the public will be able to initiate themselves into olfactive forms”.

For him it is not the sense of smell or the materials that are important, but rather the spirit which, playing with forms, will coax the latter with the aid of the former. This point of view had been forgotten for decades when perfumes came out with the eye more on the commercial than the artistic, only to be revived when certain niche companies came into the fore dynamically. Roudnitska bases his axiom in the comparison to other art forms (as mapped out by Etienne Souriau).

“A beautiful perfume is the one which gives us a shock: a sensory one followed by a psychological one. A beautiful perfume is one with happy proportions and an original form”.

One criterion is the pre-thought-out process that precedes composition, contrasting popular myths about “happy accidents” (too much aldehydes in Chanel No.5, vanillin in Jicky producing the basic accord for Shalimar) and certainly the rumour that Jean Carles composed by instinct rather than plan. Therefore artistic perfume composition should focus in evoking odours in an abstract manner. In this he found an eminable successor in Jean Claude Ellena who composes with pen and paper at hand and not concocting alloys at some secret lab. Emphasis on the interaction of materials with one another is also highly regarded.
Additionally, perfume composition should be unique, much like a musical piece, and protected against “plagiarism”. To this he was adamant. He would be sadly disillusioned to find out that nowadays there are hundreds of fragrances that are composed with gas chromatograph and mass spectometer at the side of the unlucky recipient of a perfume brief from a big company: that is, to replicate a best-selling fragrance adding a minimal twist. This is where the education of the public comes into the fore, as well as the possibility of expression both personal and national or era-related through perfume.

Perhaps one of Roudnitska’s best known triumphs -alongside Diorissimo, the iconic lily of the valley fragrance- is the classic Rochas chypre Femme {click here for review}. In this he explored the concept of the fruity chypre with touches of aldehyde and powder rendering a fragrance at once opulent, alluring and elegant. Himself he renounced the moniker of “chypre” for it. In an article appearing in Perfumer and Flavorist magazine in December 1987, he describes Femme as

“floral, aldehydic and very fruity, with the double characteristic of woodiness and sweetness”.

This was due to the antithesis to Coty’s prototype but probably also due to a desire to differentiate from previous fruity exempla, such as Mitsouko. Roudnitska continued to produce scents for Rochas: Mouselline (formely Chiffon), Mouche, Moustache and La Rose.

But it was his meeting with Serge Heftler-Louiche, director of parfums Christian Dior that cemented his style and directed him into a lucrative business and artistic collaboration that lasted for decades and it is interesting to juxtapose the chypres he produced for them with Femme. Christian Dior opened shop in 1945 under the insistence of the businessman Marcel Boussac. A new perspective to fashion was brought with his New Look, which took women back to the era of crinolines, in a way, counter-revolutionising what Cadolle and Chanel had accomplished through the use of pliable materials that helped women become the men in their lives in all areas besides the boudoir. Dior envisioned women in more traditional roles, wasp-waisted like some Minoan goddess and with meters of skirt lengths that challenged the rationed days of the war:

"We were emerging from a period of war, uniforms, female soldiers built like boxers. I was drawing female flowers with soft shoulders, full busts, waists as slim as liana and corolla skirts".

Carmel Snow, editor-in-chief of Harper’s Bazaar remarked:

“It's quite a revolution, dear Christian. Your dresses have such a new look”.

The year was 1947 and Dior came out with his first scent, Miss Dior, as homage to his sister. Credited to Paul Vacher, based on a formula suggested by Jean Carles and reorchastrated by Roudnitska in 1992 in extrait de parfum, it is nothing short of a classic and the introduction of a big trend in the coming years: the floral chypre; but with an animalic twist down the line, of which more later on.
But it was in 1949 that Diorama, a fruity chypre perfume, was created by Roudnitska. With it he found a balance between complexity and clear vision that captures several olfactory nuances: spicy, floral, fruity, animalic and all enrobed in a sensual feminine dress. By this time he began simplifying his palette, making stricter formulae, with a mathematical precision that abandonded notes that served merely for the pleasantry of the senses, like heavy sugary ones, to focus on more spiritual endeavours using purer, strictly “olfactory” notes that aimed at the cerebral rather than the carnal; aiming at elevating scent from the instinct of the reptile cortex into the fully developed Homo sapiens membranes. Eau d’Hermès followed in 1951, all spices galore, and Eau Fraîche for Dior in 1953, comissioned and modeled around Coty’s Cordon Vert eau de cologne (in its turn by Chypre) and by Roudnitska’s own words the only true chypre version in the market (this was in 1993).
In 1963 Paul Vacher produced another chypre in the Dior stable: this time a leathery fragrance, Diorling. With it all elements fall into place into a supreme elegance that is as buttery smooth as the fur of an alpaca coat.

Roudnitska’s most successful –commercially certainly! - scent entered the scene in 1966: Eau Sauvage. A chyprish citrus for men with the daring floral note of jasmine through the use of hedione. In this Roudnitska culminated his aesthetic odyssey of the sparseness of composition with an artistic merit that defies criticism. Diorella (1972), with its foot in the fruity tradition of Diorama, was the feminine chypre counterpart to Eau Sauvage, enigmatically relying on very few materials to give a very fresh, very young fragrance and which Roudnitska himself considered one of the best in his career. Dior Dior, a woody floral perfume, issued in 1976, never took off commercially and was destined to be discontinued till now.

Luckily Diorama and Diorling, two of the pre-eminent chypres in the Dior constellation have been re-issued and will be reviewed shortly along with the other Dior chypres.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: 
The Dior series, fragrance reviews of classic perfumes




Pic of E.Roudnitska courtesy of artetparfum, Dior ad from parfumsdepub. Translations of quotes from the French by Elena Vosnaki

Chypre series 5: chronology and the zeitgeist

It has long been my opinion that fragrances do not merely reflect their makers' vision or the desire to attain beauty and harmony through an ethereal means such as the fume of a precious liquid. They are routinely shaped by the circumstances that define much of the popular culture around us; they take form from the spirit of the moment, the zeitgeist. Hegel would have turned in his grave hearing us applying his Philosophy of History term applied to fragrance, but nevertheless it always seemed appropriate to me. Because, if you really think about it, aren't scents the expression of cultural tendencies and the aspirational mores of the ethos of select segments in society?

Thus, chypre fragrances evolved through a particular cultural necessity that alternately dictated allegience to forces of cool earthiness, or feminine powderiness or elegant sophistication. Although chypres have been in existence since antiquity, as previously discussed, it is most fascinating to contemplate their evolution in the 20th century.

Contrary to popular perception, François Coty was not the first to associate the name Chypre with a particular perfume in 1917. Guerlain's Chypre de Paris preceded him by 8 years, issued in as early as 1909. Chypre d'Orsay was the next one to be introduced, in 1912. However it was Coty's that really took off and became an instant commercial success that created traction and a vogue for such heavy "green" perfumes. It was also the year when Caron launched their Tabac Blond, a daring concept at the time, encouraging women to smell like they smoke, considered terribly chic then.
It was the time before the Great War, when disillusionment had not set in and the introduction of the exotic, sensual mystique of the East hadn't budded yet. It would take legendary Mitsouko by, Guerlain in 1919, inspired by a Japanese heroine in the then best-selling novel "La Bataille" to do that. The success of Les ballets Russes under impressario Diaghilev's artistic baguette (who incidentally loved Mitsouko and used it on his hotel curtains) brought on the vogue for orientals in the 1920s, as manifested by the roaring success of khol-eyed Shalimar. Suddenly everything oriental hinted at abandon and sensuality, the forbidden territory in which "flappers", the independent women of the time, marched through with renewed confidence.
Chypres and tobacco scents provided also a backdrop for confidence and individualism that marked this new era in women's emancipation. Long pipes of ebony and ivory were often held in elegant hands that bore the glamorous manicure of the times and the dark lips that recalled Theda Bara. Molinard's Le Chypre was introduced in 1925 and in 1933 Jacques Guerlain launched Sous le Vent to capture the soul of artiste Josephine Baker, the woman who shocked Americans and mesmerised the Paris audiences. (You can read a full review of Sous le vent clicking here).
The leathery chypre of Chanel, Cuir de Russie, was brought out in 1924, using birch tar as the note that skyrocketed it into the realm of utter sophistication.

As the great Crash crashed hopes of affluence and resurgence for the masses,chypres lost some of their cachet in favour of more economical propositions, at least in the United States. However perusing lists of perfume houses from the perior 1919 up to 1949, we see that every one of them had some chypre fragrance listed in their catalogues. Obviously this was a family that was considered sine qua non for perfume makers. It was often that they married the classic chypre accord with flowers, such as rose, jasmine, carnation, heliotrope or geranium, to render a more feminine note.
Contrast this with today's world in which the name Chypre is associated with more obscure or niche fragrance marketers such as Vivienne, Scientex, Arys, Montale, E.N.Z., Peckinsniffs, and Patyke. They take the heritage of Coty's success with them, but they are not at the front row of fashion. On the other hand, maybe the lack of such identical nomenclature in commercial scents has to do with marketing strategies that point to the direction of more original names that would differentiate products from one another among brands (the fact that they are not that differentiated among the offering of the same brand, what with the flankers of 1, 2, light, summer etc. is fodder for another post).

In the difficult years of World War II, it was the genius of Edmond Roudnitska that saw the potential of a long forgotten vat of methyl ionone that smelled of prunes in the factory that he was working trying to find such exciting things as butter substitute and such due to the privations of war. Femme was the dense fruity chypre of 1944 that recalled an upscale confectionary shop and which became the first perfume of couturier Marchel Rochas, a wedding present to his beautiful young bride.
It is interesting to contrast this with the dyke-y creation of nez extraordinaire Germaine Cellier Bandit for Rober Piguet issued in the same year. An ox-feller of a leathery chypre, Bandit was inspired by the panties that models wore exiting the runway; which according to Cellier was "when they let out the best of their femininity". It is no secret that Cellier was a homosexual...
Bandit was a proud creation that unabashedly confirms the aloofness of intense vetiver and patchouli smeared on used leather and with the echo of moss and flowers in the background. One can picture it on an interesting woman or a daring man. They have to be so to begin with, though, and not hoping to graft the image onto themselves through perfume.

After World War II, chypres saw a reigning period again according to perfume writer Michael Edwards, this time in the guise of less orientalised variations that were removed from the mystery of Mitsouko and more into the powderiness or the couture elegance that was depicted in Ma Griffe and Miss Dior.
Ma Griffe was another post-War chypre, a true masterpiece by nose Jean Carles for the house of Carven. Very powdery dry and quite spicy thanks to the weird note of styrax, Ma Griffe managed to be assertive in its name (it means "my signature", but also "my talon") and supremely sparkly and feminine in its aroma. It marked the introduction of chypres into the arena of professional women. Those were not factory workers of the war or flappers; they were secretaries at the new firms; twin set in place, string of pearls and a slick of lipstick on impecably powdered faces. The psychology of those new chypres talked about women who earned their living by themselves, but did not manifest themselves as sexual predators. There is a sense of detachment and intelligence.

Christian Dior had just launched the New Look in 1947 that took trainloads of fabric to new heights of spending, in an effort to maximise fabric sales but also to inject a hopeful touch into the hearts of women who had bid farewell to the rationed days of the war.( It is an old adage by Yves Saint Laurent that in times of economic shortage couturiers use a bit more fabric to boost the market, whereas in times of economic affluence -such as the 60s- the shorter length is king). Miss Dior became a best-seller and a crowd pleaser that managed not to sit on the fence, but to take an animalistic backdrop and smother it with soft flowers such as gardenia, narcissus, lily of the valley and green touches of galbanum and aldeydes. It spoke of a new elegance and a subdued sensuality that was not aggressive like that of the flappers, but more pedigreed and delicate, yet undeniably naughty underneath especially in the glorious parfum/extrait concentration.

Well into the 50s, chypres were popular. Jolie Madame was another product of Germaine Cellier, in 1953, that reprised the animalic, leathery theme; this time with very green and violety notes that cede to a big box of talcum powder. This is definitely a turn to the more restrained and professional as befited the times.
Cabochard for Gres by Bernand Chant in 1959 was more devil-may-care in attitude. Obviously there were different types of women to be catered for with the era's chypres and this one was destined for those who were powerful and dominant. Madame Gres said she was inspired by a trip to India. The bitter orange opening on spice and leather and the powdery depths beguiled and asserted themselves in the memory of anyone smelling it. Reformulated in later years, it has been irrecovably ruined, I am afraid. It is a pity, as it used to have a very individual character, hard to mimic, although it does bear some relation to another of Bernard Chant's offerings, Aromatics Elixir by Clinique.
In 1961, Guy Robert created Caleche for the house of Hermes, inspired by a fine type of carriage. The quiet resonance of this scent was completely in tune with the times, exuding copious amount of good taste while remaining tame with its sensuality under wraps; a cladestine affair was not in the programme, but should it ever happen it would remain a very well-kept secret. The sparkle of aldehydes mid-way between two trends, floral and chyprish, gave a fizziness that was also popular at the times, imbuing the whole with a feminine touch that was distinctly Parisian.

But the 1960s was a different time. Although they begun in the soft powdwery florals and the aldehydics, soon Mary Quant with the mini, the Beatles and the hippy movement and the ravages of war in Vietnam and the politics of the time swang the pendulum in another direction that meant another mentality in perfume. Nature and the smells of the body were explored in simple oils, headshop ones, such as straight patchouli and aromas that had a "pot" aroma to them. Clearly this was another page.

It was not until the 1970s when chypres dominated the perfume scene again, as a second wave of women's emancipation came to the fore. The kickstart was given by Chanel No.19, a fragrance that is traditionally classified as a green floral, created by Henri Robert for Coco Chanel herself (and overviewed by her from beginning to end), later to be publicly launched. However among the different concentrations one can feel a chyprish quality in the drier, more iris-vetiver rich eau de toilette, whereas the eau de parfum is rosier and more floral. In parfum/extrair concentration there is such dry depth that it re-affirms its position at the top of my list for elegant fragances for confident women. It seemed that it created an avalanche of chypres, dry, crisp and cerebral this time, echoing the new status of women who needed men "as much as fish needed bicycles".
Diorella was another legendary Roudnitska creation that remains enigmatic and minimalistic to this day. It begun as an attempt to capitalise on the trend of women wearing men's scents, which had started with yet another Roudnitska creation, Eau Sauvage for Dior. Diorella was to be the more feminine sister scent so that women could claim it as their own. Too crisp and fresh with its lemon opening and its fruity greeness for it to be really sensual, but an elegant insouciant fragrance for the young women who wore trousers and set out to rule the world. The latter image was best depicted by Charlie, that best-seller by Revlon (1973), which revolutionised advertising, depicting women in pants for the first time and focusing on the sheer power and confidence that it gave women who didn't need a man to be successful. It was trully revolutionary, at least conceptually!
Aromatics Elixir for Clinique and Alliage for Lauder (both in 1972), Coriandre by Jean Couturier (with the addition of a large percentage of magnolione, a material similar to hedoine but with more of a jasmine quality) and Private Collection by Lauder (both in 1973) and finally Halston in 1975; all saw this new trend take shape.
Interestingly Givenchy brought out Givenchy Gentleman in 1974, a masculine chypre full of pungent patchouli and a true masterpiece of calculated olfactory assault that married tarragon, vetiver and russian leather, showing that men could project the traditional assured image themselves still.

As the decade was coming to an end, the hyber success of spicy oriental Opium meant a new direction that would take the carnal and affluent capitalistic 80s into new avenues of perfume exhibitionism. The sophistication and powderiness of chypres took a backseat to such bombastic examples as Obsession, Giorgio and Poison.
However they did not completely disappear, with cerebral examples that encompassed Ungaro's rosy bombshell Diva in 1982, Niki de saint Phalle (the 1984 creation of a talented sculptor famous for her snakes and bearing those on the bottle), Knowing by Lauder in 1988 (inspired by the smell of pittosporum smelled during holidays in the south of France) and La perla by luxe lingerie brand in 1986.
In the masculine field, Drakkar Noir by Guy Laroche was launched in 1982; a fougere scent (with borrowed elements off the very herbal chypres) that took the name of Viking ships to emphasize masculinity and which sported tangy verbena and lemon rind with a herbal heart of coriander, lavender and juniper berries on bottom notes of patchouli, sandalwood and fir balsam. It proved to be a bestseller in the corporate world of the Wall-Street-decade.
Nevertheless, the most memorable example of the decade in the category of chypres is perhaps Paloma Picasso, Pablo's daughter's foray into perfumery which was imbued with her unique, bold style and matched her Spanish roots and signature red lips: assured. It brought the animalic quality of castoreum into the vogue again interpreting it into a domineering personality that made Montana follow suit with his Parfum de Peau in the blue box in 1986, with its beautiful bottle inspired by the swirling fall of a winged sycamore seed as seen by a strobe light, designed by Serge Mansau. Magnificently intense and terribly potent it was perhaps the last chypre chronologically to make the aggressive mark.

By the 90s, things changed again as the baby boom took place and there was a regression to simpler things, a call to nature, a desire to leave urbanity behind and revel into acqueous and ozonic notes that promised the much longed for escape.
The chypres that came out then were mostly fruitier, tamer, sweeter blends such as the fizzy fruit salad of Sophia Grojsman for Yves Saint Laurent's Yvresse (originally named Champagne) or the underrated Deci Dela by Nina Ricci in 1994.
It was clear by then that chypres had had their heyday and consumers were opting for different things, terming chypres old-fashioned and almost archaic.

Yet this esteemed category has not uttered its final word. As discussed previously in The New Contestants article, "modern" chypres are out to take revenge for their illustrious ancestors and although they are markedly different than them, they are still a hope that the zeitgeist is again changing, favouring heavier, richer, more mysterious scents that demand a wink in the eye and a steely shoulder to cry upon. Let's hope that a return to truer chypres is not far off.

NEXT POST: a perfume legend gets reviewed. Stay tuned!


pic of Mitsouko ad from the 1960s originally uploaded on mua, pic of Diorella and Miss Dior ad from psine.net

Lies and Misdemeanors

How many times have you heard a story regarding the creation of a perfume and in the end realised it must be a fabrication?
From the almost bordering to the homeric notion of "genius through incapacitation" of Coco Chanel picking up the specific batch of Ernest Beaux's No.5 while having a severe headache to another tale ~ according to which Beaux's assistant was the culprit behind the revolutionary amount of aldehydes poured by accident into a vat of jus ready for the making that resulted in a new category of perfumes.
From the melancholic Mitsouko name supposedly meaning "mystery" in Japanese (well, it means "child of light", if you want to know) and the tale that Jicky was the nickname of an unfortunate coup de foudre that Aime Guerlain harbored for an English girl (in reality it was the nickname of his nephew Jacques) to the couturier Marcel Rochas commissioning Femme as an exclusive wedding present for his great beauty of a young bride, which proved to be such a short-lived exclusive that the following year he launched it publicly...

And cut into the modern classic that is Angel, commissioned to smell like the "the caramel scent of sugared apples, the sugary notes of candy floss and the smell of the fun fair" by Strasbourg-born Thierry Mugler. (You can read an interesting article brought to my attention on the gourmand scents mentioning this byclicking here).
Or even the references made by consumers when they talk about a favourite or just plain hip of-the-moment perfume they have fallen for: Remember how Madona in the mid-90s talked about how she chose Fracas, among many others, because it reminded her of her dearly beloved mother who used to wear it, just when the whole chic crowd was rediscovering this forgotten classic and had similar stories to recount?

Perfume needs a tale behind it to sell, it seems. Every single one of the classics has a tale behind it. Every single one of those tales has some element of fantasy. It has to, because perfume seems to be aspirational: people want to buy into a fairy tale, an illusion, a flight of fancy that would make them feel happier, more elegant, more glamorous, more alluring, certainly more attractive. At its basest level perfume is used as an element of attraction. There is an inordinate amount of questions on which perfume would draw in more people of the opposite sex on perfume fora. It practically pops up every day. It also makes column inches in advertorials and articles in the press, especially when it's time for the mega-launches before the Christmas season.

However, perfume also serves other purposes: it signals a certain persona behind it (and this is not used in the Bergman sense) that is projected through the use of something upscale as an emblem of wealth, societal status, taste and cultivation. This is the reason why when giving gifts of perfume of brands that are considered upscale the face of the recipient lights up significantly more than when presenting them with an equal -monetarily speaking- offering of an unknown brand. They feel like they "belong" and that they are validated when presented with said offering, same as when they whip up the credit card to do it themselves. And people mostly want to "belong".

A variation of the latter nevertheless is the undisciplined spirit of people who want to be perceived as breaking the mould, as forming their own individual fashions and opting for something that would set them apart. In a world that is crammed with people smelling the same, the olfactory ID of a different scent acts much like the shoulderpads of the 80s, creating a little distance and hauteur that allows people to mark their own territory. And this is where the ever expanding market of "niche" perfumes falls. Based on the premise that limited ditribution creates exclusivity and that limited advertising saves money for better-quality ingredients, accounting for a better effect, as well as some leeway of an artistic vision that is not as aysterely restrained by "suits" in marketing boards, niche brands opt to play the game by their own rules.
But that is not meant to imply that they do not engage in their own literature of fantasy. Ambre Sultan is supposed to have been inspired by lumps of vegetal amber found in Moroccan souks and served as an inspiration to Lutens to come up with a perfume that has become infamous due to its perceived naughty undertones that to some smell like lady bits. Or think how Annick Goutal reading "Memoirs of Hadrian" by M.Yourcenar envisioned the young philosopher emperor smelling like a crystalline mix of Sicilian lemons and cypress resulting in Eau d'Hadrien. Or yet the very romantic tale of Antonia Ballanca Mahoney recounting the story of her grandfather and a Sicilian song named Tiempe Passate (=time passes) that served as the inspiration behind the homonymous fragrance of austere cedar and powdery orris.

Are those new tales true? I guess it doesn't matter too much. And sceptical readers will have already drawn their conclusions. But it's nice while they last. In a pedantic world they help us dream a bit.


Pic is from the film "Lady in the water", a fairy tale about how fairy tales might help us; courtesy of athinorama.gr