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When we were six, a rather bizarre mixture of rye bread and a mystery illness struck. To this day, we cannot smell rye bread without growing nauseous. It is telling that we would rather starve than risk inhaling the faintest odor of seed. Other scents evoke memories, and despite our omnipresent allergies, we rely upon scent often enough to believe it is truly the most evocative sense.

But does it make for a good promotional trick? Will the sweet, astingent odor of lavendar make people rush to the shelves, eager to purchase a favorite book? Do scents described in novels live on after the last page is finished? Don’t we respond to description of this nature because it reminds of us something in our lives — and wouldn’t such a memory make us more likely to head out and buy fresh bread than a book?

• A novel odour