Taking a break for summer vacation. Back soon!
I love names. Words of all sorts, but especially names; people’s names, as well as names of places and things. Even with ordinary first names, one may always ask “Why did the parents pick that name for that child?”—whether one asks with a note of puzzlement, admiration, or horror. But fantasy and science fiction provide wider scope for inquiry, because so many of the names in those stories are made up by the authors, rather than picked from the usual stash of baby names.
First, though, let’s look at the mundane questions faced by parents.
Name That Baby
A year ago, when my daughter was expecting her first child, she canvassed family members for name suggestions. I was happy to comply. Ecstatic, in fact. I pored through a number of baby name booklets and sources, which I keep for reference in inventing fictional characters, and (naturally) made a list.
As I was putting the list together, I realized I was subliminally applying a whole set of criteria for evaluating possible candidates. When I tried to tease out what kinds of considerations I had in mind, I came up with this set.
(1) First and last names. First of all, the first and last name have to go together. Bob Levey, a Washington Post columnist, used to collect “Perfect Fit Last Names” (PFLN). Sometimes these were simply last names that turned out to be appropriate for someone’s occupation; I once had a swimming teacher named Mr. Drown. A Levey collection from 2000 mentions a funeral home director named Graves, a midwife named Borner, and horseback riding instructors named Sadler, Mount, and Paddock. But sometimes it’s the coordination of first and last names that’s especially apt. The same article, for example, cites an Ivy Plant. The first question for parents is, do you want to saddle your child with a name that will always invite snickers?
A subtler point is whether first and last names sound good together. For example, when my children were born, I decided that names ending in an “-el” sound would elide too smoothly into the first syllable of “Ellrod.” That knocked out a lot of girls’ names with forms like Michelle or Annabelle. On the plus side, it also removed the temptation to indulge in a Tolkien name like “Galadriel Ellrod.” (More on that below.)
(2) Too common. You may not want a name that’s too common. Both my children shared first names with other kids in their grade-school classes—in one case, a first and middle name. If you’re curious what names have been most used in recent years, you can consult a Web site like Behind the Name, which also provides great etymologies.
(3) Too weird. At the same time, you don’t necessarily want a name that’s too exotic. No matter how geeky you (or your kids) may be, it’s going to be tough going through life named “Aragorn Ellrod” or “Frodo Ellrod.” (Not to mention “Kal-El Ellrod,” which fails on multiple counts.) I almost succumbed to the Tolkien temptation when I considered the name “Beren,” a hero from the Silmarillion. It sounds almost normal; and maybe I could bury it as a middle name. I started trying out the name “Christopher Beren” on people, but I stopped when someone asked: “You mean, like the Baron of so-and-so?” Uh-oh. The poor kid would never get his middle name spelled right, ever.
Fashion matters, too. Names go in and out of style. It sometimes seems that about twenty percent of the heroines in eighteenth- or nineteenth-century novels were named “Fanny.” But it’s hard to imagine giving a child that name today. (Behind the Names confirms my gut reaction, showing the statistical incidence of “Fanny” dropping off the chart after about 1940 in the U.S.)
(4) Misspelled or mispronounced. A name that will always be misspelled or mispronounced is going to be a burden for the child. In this category we have the innovative spellings one sometimes see for commonplace names. “Megan,” for example, is pretty common nowadays (though there were no Megans around when I was growing up). But a girl named “Megyn” is going to be wearily correcting the spelling all her life. And people will dither over whether “Megyn” should get some equally novel pronunciation, or just sound like “Megan.”
Names from other languages (which may be perfectly well-known in their own tongues) can fall into this category. I’m reminded of singer Colbie Caillat, though I’m thinking more of the last name than the first. “Caillat” looks French to me, and in French it would come out something like “kye-aw” (as she says in this interview). But the name as it’s actually used is said “cal-lay” (there’s an audio link on the Wikipedia page), which sounds as if someone threw up their hands and said “I can’t figure it out, but it’s French, so it must end in ‘ay.’”
(5) Commemoration. Names that duplicate those of other family members are appealing. We may like the idea of commemorating a parent, sibling, or more distant relative in a child’s name. On the other hand, having the same names constantly recur breeds confusion. I’ve torn my hair out at times trying to make sense of old family Bible genealogy pages in which every third individual is named Robert or William, and nobody at the time bothered to specify which William or Robert they were referring to. I feel it’s more interesting to give family members distinctive names—which is one reason there’s no Frederick E. Ellrod IV.
You may also want to honor famous historical or fictional characters. Even if their names are not weird, though, we want to be careful about how they come across. Different people may have different associations with the same name; we can’t control that, but sometimes we can anticipate it, especially if the name is distinctive. I might want to name a boy after Albert Einstein, but a listener might think of Fat Albert or Uncle Albert.
(6) Age-appropriateness. There are names that can become incongruous depending on the age or character of the child. For example, “Edith” might be attractive for Tolkien fans (it was J.R.R. Tolkien’s wife’s name); but it seems so staid that I can’t picture a small child named Edith. Conversely, it might be cute to name a girl Candace and call her “Candy.” But that inherently trivial-sounding monicker might seem embarrassing to a teenager, and positively annoying to a grown woman who wanted to be taken seriously. David R. Palmer’s engaging post-apocalyptic novel Emergence (1984) plays off that factor by giving us an eleven-year-old first-person heroine named Candy (Candidia)—who also happens to be a genius, an advanced karate master, and generally as formidable as any Heinlein female lead. In this case, the very incongruity is part of the fun.
(7) Ambiguity. Names that are ambiguous as to gender, like “Morgan,” “Lindsay,” or “Leslie,” may appeal to some parents for exactly that reason, but they’ll also make it harder for strangers to know how to address the person later on. When you’re writing a formal letter, it doesn’t help if you can’t tell whether the salutation should be “Dear Mr.” or “Dear Ms.”
(8) Nicknames. What are you actually going to call the kid? Some names support multiple nicknames, some only one, and some are unnicknameable. And to me at least, “Anne” has quite a different sound and resonance than “Annie.” (Anne Shirley famously insisted on “Anne” even as opposed to “Ann.”) You can name someone “Elizabeth” and make available a plethora of diminutives and variants, from Lizzie to Beth to Lisa. But give a baby the name “Faith” and that’s pretty much the only possibility. Unless, of course, the nickname comes completely out of left field. I once was introduced to the wife of a partner at a law firm whose name tag read “Winkie.” There was no predicting that one.
(9) Initials. We should at least try out the full name’s initials before we decide. A friend of my sister’s grew up with the initials “B.O.,” and naturally at a certain age she was razzed about that. I once put my full name’s initials—FEE—on something in an office refrigerator, and puzzled some people who thought there was a charge for that item. If nothing else, I’ve always favored giving the members of a family different first-name initials, so it’s easy to list them on a miniature golf scorecard just by their letters.
Of course, if a person ends up changing their last name later in life, all bets are off—as if it wasn’t complicated enough already.
So even in the sphere of ordinary Tom-Dick-and-Harry contemporary names, there are a lot of angles to think about. Next time, we’ll venture into naming conventions in fantastic worlds, where things only get more complicated.
Foregoing a new post this week—some medical issues and family events. Back soon!
Our story approaches its climax: Our Hero prepares for the cataclysmic action on which all depends. She tenses her muscles, tightens her fists, screws up her face into a tense grimace.
Or does she? There are actually two ways to imagine how one achieves some brilliant feat. We have conflicting ideas about what makes action most effective.
Passion Conquers All
The most common view is that passion brings a sort of high-tension focus that intensifies action. (I’m using “passion” here to mean any violent emotion or supreme effort, not specifically romantic passion.) The more you feel, the more vigorously you act. This connection obviously correlates with our common experience. F&SF, as always, takes the idea to new levels.
We picture this most obviously in fighting. Today’s most iconic image is probably that of the Hulk, from Marvel Comics, who changes from mild-mannered Bruce Banner to a massive powerhouse when Banner gets angry. The idea isn’t new to comics, of course; it goes back at least to the Norse berserker, who fights in what Wikipedia calls “a trance-like fury.” In a more mundane case, we see the milquetoast George McFly motivated by anger at a threat to the girl of his dreams when he finally decks Biff in “Back to the Future.”
But we also see passion as the path to other kinds of achievement. Great stress, suffering, or effort leads to a breakthrough in ability. Jean Grey of the X-Men becomes the cosmic-powered Phoenix when her power and endurance are tested to the limit piloting a space shuttle through a solar flare.
Gully Foyle achieves a previously-impossible interplanetary teleportation (“jaunte”) when he’s at the end of his rope in the SF classic The Stars, My Destination. Roger Zelazny’s hero Corwin recovers his memory and his full powers when he effortfully “walks the Pattern” in Nine Princes in Amber:
It was agony to move. Everything tried to beat me aside. The waters were cold, then boiling. It seemed that they constantly pushed against me. I struggled, putting one foot before the other.
In Julian May’s Saga of Pliocene Exile, the tormented Felice Landry achieves new levels of power under extreme stress (The Golden Torc, part III, ch. 3). On a more positive note, the coda of E.E. Smith’s Lensman series shows Clarissa MacDougall, intensely suffering the loss of her beloved, finding the power necessary to retrieve him from unimaginable reaches (that chapter is a trope namer for TV Tropes’ “The Power of Love”). Just last night, I saw the movie version of Wonder Woman (excellent, by the way) use the same trope: a climactic accession of power under immense emotional strain.
Some of the modern roots of the passionate effort concept can be found in the Romantic movement.
Dispassion Also Has Its Points
But there’s a more paradoxical view that we can achieve more when we stop concentrating and enter a state of calmness or centeredness.
This approach also has many roots. We’re frequently advised, when struggling with a difficult task, that we’re “trying too hard.” Zen and other Asiatic traditions mobilize a strategy of detaching one’s mind from too great a concentration. The currently popular practice of “mindfulness” seems to partake of the same idea: a focus on the present moment without worry or intense concern. Wikipedia even refers to “choiceless awareness,” “the state of unpremeditated, complete awareness of the present without preference, effort, or compulsion.”
A nonpassionate sense of focus also appears in F&SF as a way to great achievement, though it’s much more rare. In Robert Jordan’s massive fantasy epic The Wheel of Time, for example, Rand al’Thor is receiving sword training from a mentor who recommends “[n]ot the wild leaping about and slashing that Rand had in mind . . . but smooth motions, one flowing into another, almost a dance.”
“ . . . Blank your mind, sheepherder. Empty it of hate or fear, of everything. Burn them away. . . .”
Rand stared at him. “The flame and the void,” he said wonderingly. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? My father taught me about that.” (The Eye of the World, ch. 13, paperback p. 177)
It’s through “the Void” that Rand can be most effective with the sword—and, later, with other things.
David Weber’s military SF heroine Honor Harrington, after surviving a shuttle explosion and emotional trauma, faced with a ritual duel to the death, dramatically decapitates her opponent with a single stroke. But she doesn’t do it in a burst of rage, well-justified as that would be.
Honor waited, poised and still, centered physically and mentally, her eyes watching every part of [her opponent’s] body without focusing on any. She felt his frustration, but it was as distant and unimportant as the ache of her broken ribs. She simply waited—and then, suddenly, she moved. (Flag in Exile, ch. 29, paperback p. 376)
We might also compare Frozen, from a previous post. Elsa gains full control over her powers not when she lashes out passionately, nor when she painfully restrains herself, but when her power flows freely and gladly.
It’s hard to specify exactly what this dis-passionate state is. It’s not pure rationality, à la Mr. Spock. We might consider it a sort of pure will; but it’s not a blind will creating its own goal à la Nietzsche. What you’re seeking still matters greatly; this Void state is how you approach it.
Nor is it lack of restraint, as we saw with Frozen. Rather, the mindful actor seems to have perfect direction, perfect control, by means of this very Void state. The arrow goes straight to the target—but it strikes with unparalleled force.
We don’t see as many examples of such centered intensity in the movies. Film tends to prefer the display of passion: it’s showier. A character whose action arises from an inner balance is likely to look entirely inert, from the outside—until she moves.
What these two approaches have in common, maybe, is wholeheartedness. This seems to be the point of Yoda’s famous advice: “Do, or do not; there is no try.” Mr. Miyagi says something very similar to Daniel in The Karate Kid (at about 0:54).
The best modern description of a condition in which complete involvement in an action combines calm with wholehearted dedication may be “flow state.” Most of us have probably experienced this ourselves. There’s a certain detachment; yet there’s also deep involvement. Emotion doesn’t get in the way, but the activity itself involves a sort of ecstasy (which, etymologically, means ‘standing outside oneself’). Note that the berserker was described above as possessing (or possessed by) a “trance-like fury.”
In other words, the two paths may converge in the end, where maximum emotion is wholly embodied in or transmuted into the act. None of that energy is wasted on subsidiary symptoms or mechanisms like straining, sweating, grimacing, screaming.
The way we approach these two paths affects how we tell a story. Depending on our hero, and the hero’s personality or way of life, we may depict the climax as the moment of greatest strain or passion, or as a great achievement in a moment of crucial calm—“the still point of the turning world.”
If we’re simply living life—dancing, singing, coding, negotiating, loving—this may be good advice as well. The way to do our best may not be to strain every sinew, but to relax and center. Or possibly both.
Solstice, which published my short stories Rescue Redux and The Green Song, is holding a contest to give away copies of a new anthology, Plots and Schemes Vol. 1. Here are the details!
Enter to win! That’s all you have to do. Solstice Publishing is celebrating Plots & Schemes Vol. 1 becoming a best seller in Germany during its release by giving away three autographed copies of the print edition of this fabulous anthology.
All you have to do is click on the Goodreads link between May 26 and June 9 and enter. It’s that simple. Once the contest ends, Goodreads will notify us of the winners’ names and you will receive your copy.
Her child vanishes in a puff of smoke
When murder is on the itinerary
An eavesdropped comment leads to an impossible scheme
Mysterious events pull Dana into danger
A rock star’s murder leaves Emlyn Goode questioning everything she knows about herself
Murder most foul puts this cop to the test
One murder, one plan, two possible outcomes
Losing your mind is scary…
If you’re not at the beach, the Tough Luck stories will take you there
Trail Town Texas leans heavily on their sheriff
Murder, kidnapping, mysterious events, and more are our treat to you in this wonderful anthology from Solstice Publishing. Discover the talents of K.C. Sprayberry, Debbie De Louise, Donna Alice Patton, E.B. Sullivan, Susan Lynn Solomon, Johnny Gunn, K.A. Meng, Leah Hamrick, Lois Crockett, and Stephy Smith.
Here’s a little taste of what you’ll find inside this intriguing book!
A smile was on his face. Despite the fact that he was supposed to connect with the egg donor of this lovely child, he had no thoughts of doing that or returning the kid at the appointed time. His timing was perfect. The child—Lanie is such an idiotic name; I’ll have to come up with another one—would be five in a few days. In time, she would forget there had been his loser ex in her life. She—Sheila will regret divorcing me—had battered through his training, all he’d gone through to make her a compliant and complacent wife. She’d run away after he ordered her to get an abortion.
Good thing the bitch ignored me. I wouldn’t have this gorgeous child to raise to be like me.
Granted the child was weak now, but he would fix that, as soon as he made sure they vanished forever. No one would stop him from raising his daughter as he saw fit, and that meant keeping her away from her weakling of a mother.
Quietly, Mark Jannson, scion of the globally famous Jannson family, whose assets numbered in the billions, removed anything he considered important from his lavishly furnished thirty-room mansion located in the mountains above Denver. His mother’s jewels were carefully packed into a leather satchel, to be given to his daughter, if she remained true to the Jannson name. The woman who called herself his mother had been consigned to a hovel in the southeast somewhere, once she showed her true colors by attempting to take him from his father.
“Let the bitch live in poverty the rest of her life,” he whispered.
Starting May 26, 2017, simply click on the link provided and enter. If you aren’t a member of Goodreads, you can join easily. This is a great place to discover books by new and exciting authors and be in on the fun of all sorts of entertainment!