Should I be suspicious of Anne Raver? She says that narcissus (paperwhites, in particular), "stink". That they smell of Tom Cat! When he's at home. I wonder if she drinks Sauvignon blanc. Maybe it's only Safrican Sauvignon blanc that says Tom.
Narcissus smell like heaven. And no, I don't go around sniffing tomcats.
There is a little road that runs east-ish from Kirstenbosch, South Africa's National Botanical Garden, past a tiny stone chapel, to Bishopscourt, a wealthy suburb. It takes all of a minute or less to drive down. The green fields on either side of the road are filled with old oaks, and in very early spring, narcissus/narcissuses/narcissi [dear Sir, please send a mongoose, and another mongoose...sorry], in drifts.
At least, this used to exist. I have not driven down the little road for years, and something horrible may have happened.
I used to park my beat-up little white car there as a student and wade through the tall wet grass to pick the flowers whose long supple stems dripped stickily, and whose pure, fragile ivory flowers excited me in a way that is hard to describe.
Especially to someone who thinks that their scent is a stink.