Jitterbug Perfume

ISBN: 0553348981
ISBN 13: 9780553348989
By: Tom Robbins

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About this book

"Jitterbug Perfume" is an epic. which is to say, it begins in the forests of ancient Bohemia and doesn't conclude until nine o'clock tonight [Paris time]. It is a saga, as well. A saga must have a hero, and the hero of this one is a janitor with a missing bottle. The bottle is blue, very, very old, and embossed with the image of a goat-horned god. If the liquid in the bottle is actually is the secret essence of the universe, as some folks seem to think, it had better be discovered soon becaused it is leaking and there is only a drop of two left.

Reader's Thoughts


Fucking terrible. An immortality fable thoroughly leavened with pseudo-spiritual bullshit, goofball names (Bingo Pajama! Huxley Anne and Wiggs Dannyboy! V'lu Jackson! The Bandaloops!), nonsensical descriptions ('Above Seattle, the many-buttocked sky continued to grind', 'The shaman grinned like a weasel running errands for the moon'), a black character dat sho 'nuff be talkin' like dis, and a yucky, hairy, hornball lesbian - Careful, Priscilla - she's going to corner you and eat your pussy!At one point, this actually happens.Worth reading - now I know not to read anything else:1. Written by Tom Robbins 2. Recommended to me by the person who told me I should read Tom Robbins.


Hm. What to say about this guy . . . this is totally a guy you either love or hate, and yet I find myself strangely ambivalent. There are some things i really appreciated about the book and his style, and there are some things I really didn't care for. Whatever one says about this writer, the first is that he is a complete iconoclast of Rabelasian proportion. He ignores pretty much every rule that fiction writers generally, in good taste, abide by. And to an extent that's quite refreshing. He's incomparably clever at turning a phrase. His imagination is boundless. Through the first 50 or so pages I was very skeptical, but then he got me, and the reading went much quicker. I also have a lot of appreciation for his message, and that message is consistent with the manner in which he writes. I can therefore conclude that Tom Robins is simply writing who he is, and that's pretty much all one can ask of any author . . .That being said, here come the complaints. I guess my biggest complaint was the fact that the novel's pull depended so much upon the author's cleverness. The characters all have roughly the same sense of humor (which I suspect is very much like Mr. Robins' own) and I felt they could have been interchanged with one another into different roles and it wouldn't have made a difference. And I guess that's it - I was so aware of the writer and his tongue in cheek (or tongue in ass?) wit that the characters remained at a distance from me, as if they were on a stage, and when the novel stalled (which was not often) I was painfully aware of this distance. At those points they seemed like characters from a Beckett or Pirandello play wandering about in search of direction. Robins is perhaps too overtly the master puppeteer with his many strings dangling from quick moving fingers . . . The big question for me when I finished the novel was 'Why did I not connect on an emotional level with the characters?' The novel is wonderfully humorous, the author's aim is admirable, and he treats his characters with a decided tenderness; yet despite this I was left feeling a little aloof. And I think it was because of one thing: his characters don't change. They don't struggle. They struggle, but they don't seem to struggle as much with the reasons why they do things. They struggle with two things: bills and cosmic issues. In that order. I might have loved this novel ten or fifteen years ago.Which leads me to my third and final criticism. This novel reminded me at times of Ayn Rand. Whom I despise. It also reminded me of BF Skinner, who wrote perhaps the worst novel (Walden II) in the history of novel writing. How can I compare someone like Tom Robins to Ayn Rand? How can I compare the leaping imagination of Tom Robins with the clinical sensibility of Skinner? Why they seem like total opposites! Ah but they are, in a way, the same. You see to Ayn Rand things like characters are always subservient to her greater (and stupid) purpose of telling all people to act like butt-holes, and then they will be better off. And though Tom Robins has quite the opposite message, his characters are still subservient to his ideas, and I tend to think that characters need a little more elbow room than that. Characters are people too, after all.I was going to give this book 3 stars, based on my enjoyment level, but then I realized you know what? I've never read a book like this before and it definitely got me to thinking. Thinking of the serious, head-scratching variety. I can't say I'm going to rush out and buy his oeuvres, but I will pick one up the next time I'm feeling guilty about loafing about or surfing too much. And for that? 4 stars for you Tom Robins!


In all of Tom Robbins' books, even the ones I love, there is something about the way he treats gender that keeps me a little on edge. It seems that in one moment of time (1970, Sexual Revolution, there was a Fu Manchu mustache involved), he discovered a new way of thinking about women, and since then, he hasn't found a plot twist, metaphor, or character that doesn't, in some way, lead back to our orgasms, in all their Robbins-inflected glory. That said, nobody tells a story like Tom Robbins. Jitterbug Perfume contains all the myth, mystery, and hilarity that I love about his books. If you can get past the dirty-old-man factor, I recommend this book as a good introduction to the Robbins collection.

Ani Artinyan

Абсолютно удоволствие, прекрасен стил, актуална книга, както политически, така и научно, и културно и всякак. Която, на всичкото отгоре, на моменти ме караше да се смея с глас! Жалко, че авторът, доколкото се простират моите познания, не е широко познат в България.В един от коментарите за нея тук, някакъв човек обяснява как бил очаквал нещо смешно, в стил Дъглас Адамс. Такива хора бих посъветвала да заровят Пътеводителя някъде далече в детството си и да обменят хумора на думата срещу хумора на мисълта. За съжаление, след определена възраст курсът май става крайно неизгоден.


I keep feeling like this book is like something else that I've read, but I couldn't tell you what that something else is.I guess it's kinda like Kurt Vonnegut meets Robert Anton Wilson meets . . . maybe Chuck Palahniuk, emphasis on maybe, but very much Vonnegut meets Wilson.And kinda Philip K. Dick, a little, just less of the science fiction and more of the mind-blowing philosophical standpoint.That being said, I liked it. It's incredibly dense, in the sense that there is so much in it. The language is something unto itself, and when I happened across it in the Borders in Providence Place Mall, it was the language and the first little introductory page that convinced me I had to go back and buy it. It's at once prose, poetical, intellectual, light, jovial, didactic, aloof. Really something else.I couldn't help but wonder, as I went through it, how the hell he wrote it. What kind of research he had to have done, if he did any. I mean, the story itself is basically a very simple story, but it's all the layers that are interwoven on top of it are really something else. It boggles the mind. I mean, there are things that just kind of stand out as periphery (Bingo Pajama, unfortunately, being one of them) to the overall story, but the amount of philosophical inference and banter, the journey throughout time, perfumery culture, like, where do you find this stuff? Impressive. Utterly impressive.


I LOVE this book. It is my favorite by Tom Robbins that I have read so far. It talks about SOOOOO much. All in all the message is basically: "lighten up." In other words, be light hearted and just live life. It talks about how science and art, although they tend to oppose eachother, actually intercect and are just two parts of the same thing. It implies that everything is just a part of one big thing. It also talks about living life with a healthy attitude. It even gives credit to "the genius waitress" something that so many people can relate to. It also gives a unique look at religion, different gods, and heaven and hell. It was an amazing read. I loved it.

Christopher Todd

Thoroughly impressed. Well written.


What can I say about Tom Robbins? The man's a freaking rock star.Jitterbug Perfume is an epic. It's about immortality, religion, individuality, pleasure, our primitive brain (specifically our sense of smell), the ridiculousness of life, conformity, escaping social bounds, and, well, LIFE. It's a love story. It's philosophical. It's a laugh-out-loud comedy routine. It's everything, and without a single cliché in sight. Sometimes the everything-ness was exhausting, but only because I so desperately wanted--no, needed--to wrap my brain around the entirety of Robbins' message. I constantly felt like I was missing something, and I didn't want to let anything fly over my head. This is difficult because there are so many balls up in the air; one can't help but wonder how it's possible to catch them all. Robbins must have used charts, notes, graphs, large pieces of paper taped together and tacked onto his office walls to write this book. Either that or his editor really kept tabs on things.The book was released in 1984, and some of the reviews I've read stated that the book is good despite its outdated ideologies. I disagree that Robbins' observations and commentary are outdated. He eloquently stresses certain simple and logical truths that remain quite relevant today: reduced stress can lengthen life span, organisms that consistently feel pleasure and purpose tend to stick around longer, individuality and meaning are being threatened by social constructs that urge us to conform to our surroundings, etc. While the search for immortality is ridiculous and unnatural (to me, at least), the basic tools for prolonging life are important and useful. I'm simplifying his message, but like I said, this book is difficult to summarize. I couldn't help but wonder about Robbins' current stance on technology, on our "perma-connectedness" via the digital world. Would he say that it hinders individuality, that it's simply another tool we use to disappear and conform within social norms? Or would he think that we are freer to explore meaning and diversity with constant information at our fingertips? I'm not sure about this one. Perhaps I'll have to read some of his more recent work to discover the answer(s).


This book is RIDICULOUS! Its a huge, dense story in a small package. I thought I would speed right through it, but it is so dense that it has taken me nearly 3 weeks to get through it.I recommend this book highly. Its smart, thought-provoking, and over-the-top. I have never read anything like it before.The only reason I didn't give it 5 stars is that the incessant absurd metaphors that Robbins uses grow tiresome after the first few chapters. At first they seem clever, but then after the first 20 or so I started rolling my mental eyes each time he used another one.But really, that is the only fault I can find with this novel. It has everything else I could ask for. And as soon as I finished it, I had the urge to turn to the first page and start over again (which is always a sign of a good book). "Teachers who offer you the ultimate answers do not possess the ultimate answers, for if they did, they would know that the ultimate answers cannot be given, they can only be received."


post-read: Ohhhh, I really missed reading Robbins. What fun! This book was both more and less wonderful than I'd remembered. More because I'd forgotten just what a superb stylist Robbins is (see mid-read comments). His plots are intricate, his characters are rendered in wonderful detail, down to the distinctive vocal stylings. His ideas, though perhaps a smidge stale twenty-five years on, are still interesting and fun and clever and smart, intellectual, but not in a showy or pedantic way. Plus there's that anxiety you get when you're, oh, twenty or so pages from the end of a book, thinking There's no way he can pull it all together satisfactorily in so few pages! But he does! It's a tiny bit cheesy, maybe just a wee bit pat, but c'mon. He had an awful lot of balls in the air. Less for a few reasons. I'd kindly blocked out the fact that everyone in a Tom Robbins novel sooner or later launches into a discourse that sounds exactly like Tom Robbins, which can get pretty annoying. Also, I forgot how letchy he can be. There's a lot of sex in this book – in fact, it's one of the four pillars of immortality – which is fine; it's just that the descriptions of it are often a bit much. ("Alma hiccupped the mushroom scent of his spurt," ex, not to mention lots of glistening, semen-encrusted thighs, and that sort of thing.) The other thing, which isn't really bad or good, exactly, is that I think Tom Robbins is kind of a victim of himself. He's too much Tom Robbins sometimes. Too hippie-cliché; too cerebral-in-an-understandable-but-trippy-way; too specific with his characters, to the point where they become caricatures that are hard to take seriously; even, sadly, too over-the-top with his metaphors ("his knuckle began rapping at his eye patch like a mongoloid woodpecker drilling for worms in a poker chip"? Are you kidding?); just too... too much. I guess taking a few years off between Robbinses allows one to forget these drawbacks just enough to come back to him fresh and be able to enjoy his shimmering originality again. mid-read: It's not that I'd forgotten, exactly, but no one does metaphors like Tom Robbins. For example: The sky was a velvety black paw pressing on the snowy landscape with a feline delicacy, stars flying like sparks from its fur. Fuck, really??pre-read: Last night I made the most amaaazing beet salad. And this afternoon, as I was pondering a middle ground between all the new new new new things I've been reading and something (Proust) too, ah, weighty to take on vacation, I saw my little half-shelf of Tom Robbins. I can't believe I don't have Another Roadside Attraction , but I thought I'd maybe check out this one, which I haven't read in like a decade. The whole book is about beets!! And oh my god, how have I not read Tom Robbins in so long?? He is so fucking cool.

Lisa Vegan

The library gave me a musty, beat up hardcover edition with a missing dust cover. I’m so visually oriented that in order to better enjoy the book I printed out pictures of both the hardcover and a paperback cover too.I really struggled while reading this book and it took me forever to read it.I enjoyed the main love story and liked the parts that take place in ancient Bohemia much better than most of the modern era portions.While I was reading I felt as though I was reading a series of different stories. I felt that the plot disintegrated toward the end as the author seemed to go from writing a speculative fiction novel to a combination of philosophy, science, political, and health/longevity treatise, but not in a particularly interesting or compelling manner, or with enough accuracy either. The very end did bring all the parts together, and I suspected that it would. I think that the author tried to do too much with this novel; it was as though he was working out for himself some of the mysteries of life, but not in a way that entertained or enlightened me. Parts were brilliant but for me the whole was not.I did find interesting the main theme of avoiding death, of the search for immortality. Immortality, perfume/smell/odor, and beets, yes beets, are the main subject matter of this novel. The god Pan makes an interesting appearance. However, I found it long and rambling and at times irritating and annoying. It was a strange book. It’s hard for me to evaluate it given what was going on in my life while I was reading it. At another time I might have appreciated it more or been even more peeved by what I consider its flaws. I do think it can make a good book club selection though, and I did read it for my real world book club; there’s some interesting material for discussion, especially regarding the ramifications of immortality.Edited a day later: I just downgraded this book a star. Despite moments of brilliance and many interesting parts, at best it was just an ok book for me. I struggled through it and wouldn't have finished it had it not been for my book club. While I liked the author's ambition, I didn't really like the book enough to give it 3 stars. I couldn't even be bothered to write a long, thoughtful review because I didn't want to extend the experience.


Following the resounding success of my Locus Quest, I faced a dilemma: which reading list to follow it up with? Variety is the spice of life, so I’ve decided to diversify and pursue six different lists simultaneously. This book falls into my GIFTS AND GUILTY list.Regardless of how many books are already queued patiently on my reading list, unexpected gifts and guilt-trips will always see unplanned additions muscling their way in at the front.Let's jump straight in with a quote from somebody else's review:"I was surprised at how much I liked this book" - Gertie Ditto, Gertie, ditto!A couple of years back I decided to get all of my immediate family the same present (same-same, but different) - as many second hand books as I could get for £20. I averaged about 7 books each.My brother got various Mann Booker Prize winners. My Mum got a platter of modern sci-fi and fantasy. My Step-Dad got a selection of humorous fantasy works: this being one of them.He likes authors like Tom Holt, Robert Rankin and Chris Moore. I wasn't familiar with Tom Robbins (at all, like, zilch recognition) but it kept popping up on Amazon's 'if you like this, you might like...' so I took a punt and chucked it into his birthday bundle. There were two books he came back to me raving about and thrust into my hands - Lamb and Jitterbug Perfume . Having read one Moore beforehand, I knew what to expect from Lamb , so I breezed through it in while stuck on a plane - and it's a good book. I didn't know what to expect from Jitterbug , so I left it on a shelf... and it kept looking at me...It's good! Not to put down their own work, but this is the kind of story that Holt & Rankin would kill to write! It's got just as much imagination and whimsy as their zany tales, but a much deeper and more finessed use of theme, and bucketloads more 'blood-on-the-walls' heart to it.It's a story about immortality, perfume, passion and beets!Quick tangent:(view spoiler)[(If you've never heard of British poet/rapper Scroobius Pip, check out the song 'The Beat That My Heart Skips' on youtube - that kept popping into my head (over and over again) as the 'The Beet That My Heat Skips') (hide spoiler)]It's light hearted and smart, it's fun, funny, and tremendously enjoyable. Robbins knows his way around a sentence and can certainly produce a playful paragraph - the man can write!I particularly enjoyed Pan, the whale mask, the lesbian not-lover, heaven and the bees. A delightfully incongruous combination of words!So why not a 5-star?Because... It's just not quite my thing. It's a bit like watching Friends with the wife - there's no doubt it's entertaining, I don't complain about watching it - but I'd rather be watching Battlestar!I doubt I'll ever feel the urge to re-read, and if there was a sequel I'm not sure I'd pick it up. We enjoyed our time together, but like a blind-date set-up that seems good in theory, it's clear the chemistry isn't right for a long term relationship.After this I read: Greywalker["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>


As I'd said to my friend Juliana, once I'd started this book: part of me wonders what took me so long between being recommended the book in 1996 and finally getting around to reading it, like, TODAY. But then another part of me knows that I did not yet dig so heavily on, say, beets and Tibetan Buddhism (both of which have figured crucially by p. 116) back in 1996. And then, oh my God, an accordionist, a crucial accordionist, appears! I mean really. So maybe I had to, you know, get with it, before I could be worthy of such a damn fine book. It is as if Tom Robbins, way back in 1984, had a portal into what would become my brain, and made a book for it.As Juliana astutely pointed out in response, "Perchance you need to see what he is writing now so you an get a glimpse of what's to come for you in a decade or so. Would be cheaper than a call to 1-800-CLAIRVOYANT."


Uniquely written, deeply satisfying as well as profoundly alarming, Jitterbug Perfume has it all. As a lover of Tom Robbins' writing style, his flexible plot lines, and the unique way he portrays his characters, I consider this his Magnum Opus. The clever, captivating, and quite often smug prose is the only right tone for these profound characters to evolve, and the carefully-crafted complex setting compliments a plot full of excitement. A Must-Read for sure.


Talk about not understanding what all the fuss is about. If I'm not mistaken, Tom Robbins is kind of a literary legend in some circles, and at the very least has sold millions of books. And while there's certainly an intelligent, probing mind behind this sexual-philosophical hodgepodge of a book, the sum of the parts of my first foray into Robbins' world was not much fun to read.I recently read an interview with Tom Robbins in which the author admits to being able to write about two pages a day. This makes sense to me because I was able to read about two pages of Jitterbug Perfume a day. I read this book out loud to my girlfriend, over many months, usually in bed before going to sleep. We thought it would be a fun book to read together, and at first it very much was, but by the end it was a struggle to get through even a few paragraphs without nodding off. Robbins sets a colorful cast of characters in motion right from the get-go: There's Priscilla, a sexually frustrated "genius waitress" trying to invent perfume in her Seattle apartment. There's Madame Devalier and her assistant V'lu, who also make perfume in New Orleans, and there's yet a third perfume-making team out in Paris, whose names I can't remember so pointless were they to the story. (And yet, they are talked about as if they are important, a penchant Robbins seems to have for... nearly everything. Every sentence of Jitterbug Perfume rings with an air of unfathomable significance, as if Robbins has solved the mysteries of the universe and has taken it upon himself to explain it to us. It's all VERY self-important.)Anywho! Not one of the aforementioned characters is very interesting, but it's intriguing to imagine how they all might connect. Also, Robbins kept us hooked (initially) with the tale of yet another set of characters, Alobar and Kudra, a couple who meets something like 900 years ago, then proceeds to learn ancient eastern self-preservation techniques and live healthily and happily until the present day. At first, it's fascinating to simply follow these strange, exotic characters around a bygone Eastern world, but Robbins can't sustain the momentum. When they actually start living forever, moving through time and geographical location, it feels like we are living forever right along with them. They have long, tedious conversations expounding on love and relationships and spirituality and immortality and other stuff I can't remember and they meet the god Pan, who makes everyone he encounters extremely turned on despite the fact he smells horrible.I dunno... I'm getting tired even thinking about this book, let alone trying to describe hundreds of pages of arbitrary plot detritus that I've already spent months slogging through. Simply put, Robbins' pinballing wackiness and juxtaposition of the mythical and the real felt contrived to me, and his relentless stream of off-kilter metaphors and humorous asides felt a.) dated as hell comedy-wise (like the literary version of 1980s stand-up comics), and b.) extremely self-satisfied, as if he was constantly winking and nudging us and saying "can you believe I'm describing something this way? can you believe it? eh, sonny? pull my finger!"This funny/dirty old man vibe achieves downright unpleasant proportions in the second half of the book, when the Priscilla character falls for a much older man/social theorist named Wiggs Dannyboy, who she bangs relentlessly in scene after scene of squirm-inducing sexual depiction (positions? thrust patterns? fluids? You name it, you got it.) These scenes feel all too much like some kind of fantasy the middle-aged Robbins (At the time of Jitterbug's inception, that is) is enacting on the page—and they're gross.It would all be ok (gross sex, Robbins' arrogance, meandering plot threads) if it all went somewhere, but it doesn't. It really doesn't. The disparate characters do come together, but not in any meaningful fashion, and last-minute additions like Wiggs Dannyboy, Bingo Pajama and a strangely sentient swarm of bees feel tacked on, and boring in their arbitrariness. There are some nice ideas in Jitterbug Perfume—some pointed stuff about deep breathing, healthy eating, and general soulful living predates the alternative lifestyle movement by at least a decade or more—but lord you have to dig to find it. And dig, and dig, and dig...

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