The best books about the senses

This is THE book to read on the senses, so I’m stating the obvious here. But let me tell you why it must be at the top of my list. Diane Ackerman takes us through a series of sensuous experiences, from extreme cold to a delicious massage to a thought-provoking meal.

But what’s remarkable is that because she’s a poet, her words pull you out of your mind and into your eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and skin cells. Here’s just one line. “Words are small shapes in the gorgeous chaos of the world. But they are shapes; they bring the world into focus, corral ideas, hone thoughts, paint watercolors of perception.” Like it? This book is full of them, and they left me tingling.

This is a book about how our different experiences of the senses unite and divide us, as explored through Braille Without Borders, which was the first school for the blind in Tibet.

It’s about how self-actualized and independent many blind people are, even as they inhabit a world that views blindness as one of the worst things that could happen to a person, even a curse. For the students at this school, who’ve sometimes been ostracized in their communities, school is an opportunity many of their sighted peers don’t have, further complicating their relationships. For me, it was a reminder of something basic about vision. 

We don’t know how to use sight when we’re born. We must learn it. And that early experience changes the lens through which we see for the rest of our lives.

Ed Yong became a well-known figure because he covered COVID-19 for The Atlantic. But he started doing that when he was supposed to work on this book. I was thrilled when it came out because it was a longer wait than expected.

In extremely readable prose, he breaks down the perceptual realms of other creatures. Consider how a dog smells or what songbirds hear, not to mention senses that we don’t have that others do, like echolocation (well, some people do) or magnetic sensing. While reading, I started imagining the vast world inaccessible to me because of the limitations of my own senses, which was both awe-inspiring and humbling.

Luca Turin, a biophysicist and writer, is obsessed with smell. You know those poetic-seeming, almost made-up descriptors we see in wine marketing? Well, that’s how he talks about smells. Turin also wants to figure out how we smell, which we still don’t know the answer to. Ultimately, by delving into some past research and building on it, he finds some answers, though they’re still not widely embraced.

Burr shares Turin’s story about the complexities of navigating the world of sensory science, especially as a passionate iconoclast. It also left me thinking about the art and science of sensing and about who has more expertise–the seasoned perfumer who can detect the fine notes within a glass bottle or the research scientist trying to describe the smell in a purely factual, scientific way.

This is my curveball selection because it’s fiction. It’s a dystopian book about our disconnection from our sense of touch, and it so well highlights our fears about technology cutting us off from true experiences. It tells the story of Sloan, who works at a company whose consumers prefer virtual relationships and whose partner believes in something called “post-sexual sex.” 

But she slowly realizes that people, including herself, are feeling deprived, and she goes on a journey to fight for connection. If I had a criticism of this book as fiction only, I’d say it feels very obviously topical in a way that sometimes detracts from the narrative. But as a treatise on the value of touch, it delivers entirely.