Ever since Adam
Aug. 14th, 2002 12:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beetigerAccording to the Biblical story, the first job humanity had was to name everything. I imagine Adam doing his nine-to-five touching all the plants and animals, making up new words to attach to them, then coming home exhausted, handing Eve something green, saying "It's asparagus" and expecting that somehow knowing that would inspire her to turn it into dinner.
There's a long tradition which shows up in folklore, occultism, and fantasy fiction of True Names, by which an entity can be controlled, like Rumplestiltskin. A related concept is that of Names of Power, names of gods or demons that unleash powerful forces just by uttering them. The tetragrammaton. Language is indeed one of the very most powerful tools we have as a species, and these stories emphasize that. I don't personally believe in True Names. I have had many names, each with its own context: Vicki, Bumblebee, Levanah, vickibee, Vicki-Beth, Lady, sweetie, Vicki Borah, Kitty, Ms. Victoria Borah Bloom, Mrs. Bloom Sometimes I wonder though, if I could be missing something. If I could find my True Name, would I be enlightened? Would I become a part of God? Would I explode? Would that word own me?
It was being at the zoo this weekend which brought this topic to mind. People in museums and zoos name things all the time, reading the labels to each other, as if naming a thing increases their understanding of it. "That's a Blue-Spotted Jumping Scorpion." "It's a Matisse." "That polar bear's named Snowy." Many people seem satisfied with that, as if those words have told them something profound. A lot of the popular medicalized descriptions of "syndromes" fall into that trap, such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Occasionally, I'm tempted to make something up, just to see if I can get sympathy or that telltale head-nodding. "Please don't be personally offended if I nod off in the middle of your story, I've got a borderline case of Takasago Syndrome."
Writing fiction, especially role-playing fiction, requires being a modern day xenophilic Adam, naming people, places and things with abandon. It's a challenge to make those names sounds right, sometimes, rolling the sounds over and over on your tongue, playing with echoes of the names of real places and things so that they are neither too similar or too different, so they feel right. The World Tree species name "Orren" evaded us for a while, like the people it describes. The name "Sleeth" was extremely obvious from the start, somehow. And "Khtsoyis", though it has the right rough sound, was perhaps a poor choice, in retrospect; people have a lot of trouble pronouncing it, somehow ending up with "ketosis" instead, and even I have trouble spelling it most of the time.
You can call me whatever you like. Just be sure to tap me on the shoulder if I don't answer.
There's a long tradition which shows up in folklore, occultism, and fantasy fiction of True Names, by which an entity can be controlled, like Rumplestiltskin. A related concept is that of Names of Power, names of gods or demons that unleash powerful forces just by uttering them. The tetragrammaton. Language is indeed one of the very most powerful tools we have as a species, and these stories emphasize that. I don't personally believe in True Names. I have had many names, each with its own context: Vicki, Bumblebee, Levanah, vickibee, Vicki-Beth, Lady, sweetie, Vicki Borah, Kitty, Ms. Victoria Borah Bloom, Mrs. Bloom Sometimes I wonder though, if I could be missing something. If I could find my True Name, would I be enlightened? Would I become a part of God? Would I explode? Would that word own me?
It was being at the zoo this weekend which brought this topic to mind. People in museums and zoos name things all the time, reading the labels to each other, as if naming a thing increases their understanding of it. "That's a Blue-Spotted Jumping Scorpion." "It's a Matisse." "That polar bear's named Snowy." Many people seem satisfied with that, as if those words have told them something profound. A lot of the popular medicalized descriptions of "syndromes" fall into that trap, such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Occasionally, I'm tempted to make something up, just to see if I can get sympathy or that telltale head-nodding. "Please don't be personally offended if I nod off in the middle of your story, I've got a borderline case of Takasago Syndrome."
Writing fiction, especially role-playing fiction, requires being a modern day xenophilic Adam, naming people, places and things with abandon. It's a challenge to make those names sounds right, sometimes, rolling the sounds over and over on your tongue, playing with echoes of the names of real places and things so that they are neither too similar or too different, so they feel right. The World Tree species name "Orren" evaded us for a while, like the people it describes. The name "Sleeth" was extremely obvious from the start, somehow. And "Khtsoyis", though it has the right rough sound, was perhaps a poor choice, in retrospect; people have a lot of trouble pronouncing it, somehow ending up with "ketosis" instead, and even I have trouble spelling it most of the time.
You can call me whatever you like. Just be sure to tap me on the shoulder if I don't answer.
