Literary Onomastics Studies

Volume 9 Article 11

1982

An Introduction to Naming in the Literature of

Fantasy
Frederick M. Burelbach
The College at Brockport

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Burelbach, Frederick M. (1982) "An Introduction to Naming in the Literature of Fantasy," Literary Onomastics Studies: Vol. 9, Article
11.
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 '

LOS 13 1
I

AN INTRODUCTION TO NAMING

IN THE LITERATURE OF FANTASY

Frederick M. Burelbach

State University of New York

College at Brockport

If you were writing a fantasy novel, one of your first

concerns would be to s�lect names for the places and charac­

ters. It is clear that ordinary names - Tom, Dick, and

Jane - would not do, except in ironic counterpoint to

extraordinary events and situations. European names, such

as Boris, Francois, and Ludmilla, might suggest more distance, 'I

'but they usually. carry a freight of unwanted connotations

related to assumptions about national character and associa-

tions with historical figures. It would be useful to have '

r

some theoretical· basis as a guide to _·selecting· the names

for your fantasy, wouldn't it? That is what .:this paper

attempts to provide.

First we need some definitions. If we were to create

a continuum of fiction, from photographic realism to its

ultimate opposite, fantasy would be at the.furthest remove

from realism. The hallmark and primary criterion of fantasy

is the creation of a world in which causality is based on

principles that are, in comparison with the real, everyday

world, non-rational (although there may be an internal

LOS 132

rationality to the causali ty of that "secondary" world which

is distinct from that of the "real" world ) . For example,

in the secondary world of fantasy, sorcerous spells may be

effective and unicorns may exist. This secondary world is

distinct from the imaginary world created in "main line"

fiction in that the latter is based on familiar, acceptably

rational princi ples of causality, even though the events,

characters, etc. are all invented and never really happened.

The point is that they could happen.without any displacement

of our ordinarily accepted epistemologies. Of course, we

can all think of fictions that seem to straddle the "real"

and "secondary'' worlds, such as The House of the Seven Gables,

in which a dying man's curse se.ems to take actual effect and

paint ings take on life, but these events could also be ex­

plained in "realistic" terms as hallucinations, etc. This

is why I s poke of a continuum, not a . clear-cut division of

classes. Before going further, let me substitute the word

''primary" for "real" when speaking of the fictional world

that imitates rational causality� This will obviate my

putting quotation marks around "real."

Now, this secondary.world can be made to stand entirely

on its own, so that there is no primary world in the fiction

and the only reference points to the real world are those

the reader brings with him or forges for himself. This is

generally the case with what is commonly called "high"

fantasy, such as J. R. R. Tolkien'� The Lord of the Rings.

 LOS 1)3

From beginning to end ·of the fiction we are in the secondary

world. A common subset of high fantasy is "sword and

1
sorcery" or, as Zahorski and Tymn call it, •• sword and sinew."

In this subset, the action is similarly presented entirely

within the. secondary world, but the emphasis is on action

and derring�do rather·than on more subtle themes. Again,

precise separations can not be made, for much high fantasy

(e.g., The Lord of the Rings again) makes ample use of

swordplay and physical prowess while presenting deeper themes.

Alternatively, the secondary world may abut or inter­

act with the primary world, so that one or more persons from

the primary world might at some point .in the fiction enter

into the secondary world - as is common in dream fiction

and science fantasy - or the 3econdary world might manifest

itself in the primary world - as is the case in most stories

of· supernatural horror. In all these cases, the fiction

consciously relates two or more distinct and different

worlds to each other, and this directly affects, among

other things, the writer's choice of names. I am not sure

to what extent one can clearly differentiate between fantasy

and science fiction � most publishers seem.to have given up

trying - but I do not attempt the distinction here. I have

tried to focus on works that are unquestionably fantasy,

but the possibility of disagreement will not, I think, much

disturb my presentation.

To complicate the definition of fantasy literature

LOS 134

further, there are some additional types, such as myth,

fairy tale, and tall story. Myths, whether the traditional

ones, extensions of traditional myth, or newly invented 6nes,

.

generally fall into the category of high fantasy with two

additional extrinsic features: (1) traditional myth may at

one time have been believed to be literally true or at

least true in a higher way than other fiction, and (1) tradi­

tional myth, like other materials that have considerable

cultural importance, offers a source of literary all usion

with which to enrich other fictions. Writers who extend

traditional myths, much as a writer of historical fiction

extends history, or who write in a consciously mythic style,

are attempting to attach to their stories. some of the solemnity

of that higher truth, ,occasionally for the purposes of mock­

heroic effects. Examples are A�brey Beardsley's erotic

fantasy Under the Hill, in which Siegfried.and Venus play

at highly so phisticated love games, and Richard Garnett's

"The City of Philosophers;• in which Plotinus, Porphyry, and

other.s establish a short-lived city in Campania. Fairy tales

likewise have a place in tradition, but considered a� them­

selves, they tend to fall into one of the previously identi­

fied types. Tall stories are usually an eKaggeration of the

primary world for comic effect, with a grad ual infusion of

the non-rational so that at some point the reader says

"This couldn't have happened. " But since the central point

of the hu�or is the reade�'s perception of the exaggeration,

 LOS 135

the principles for naming are those of " realistic" comic

·
fiction. (To borrow a cue from Leonard Ashley, I might

point to the need for a study of the principles of comic

naming.)

The type of fantasy that you are writing will largely

determine the principles of nomenclat ure that you use.

If, for instance, you are writing high fantasy� the central

principle of the nomenclatur:e will be remoteness from the

real or us ual patterns, those most familiar to the reader.

For the fantasy·to ind uce the necessary suspension of dis­

belief, the secondary world must be remote in space, time,

and/or dimension from the primary or real world. The nomen­

clature is one important way in which this remoteness is

achieved and sustained. If you are writing the kind of

fantasy that juxtaposes the primary and secondary worlds -

either by traveling in some way from primary to secondary

or by introd ucing the secondary into the primary - you will

wish to use at least two categories of names, the familiar

and the remote. And for the greatest shock effect, the one

set of names should be very familiar and ordinary, whereas

the other set should be very unusual or alien. Of course,

special effects of various sorts can be attained by varying

from these·basic principles. You might want to show, _ for

example, that a character from the primary world really

belongs in the secondary world and so choose a name that

could be satisfactory in both realms, as Stephen R.

LOS 1)6

Donaldson does with Thomas Covenant in his trilogy The

Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever. Or you

might want to achieve a comic displacement from the basic

pattern, as Lewis Carroll does when his Alice, in the

mids t of characters with names like the Vv'hite Rabbit, the

Mad Hatter, the March Hare, and the Cheshire Cat, en­

counters a lizard named Bill.

Remoteness alone, however, is not the only desideratum.

Names in fantasy literature must do the same kind of work

that they do in the real world, that is, indicate sex and

frequently age and social ranlc, distinguish among nations

or the equivalent (such as different language stocks), and,

in. the case of place -names, give some idea of the size and/or

identity of the place. For example, in The Lord of the Rings

it is easy to detect that Mirkwood is a rather nasty wooded

place and that the Brandywine is a smallish, gently comfort­

ing stream. Tolkien is particularly good at this. His

names for elves and dwarves, for instance, are quite

clearly each of a pattern, and the two patterns are distinct

from each other. His dwarves have names, drawn from Finnish

folklore, that suggest sturdiness and grimr1ess, such as

Gimli, Thorin, and Bofur (see the first group of names in

the appendix) . The elves, on the other hand, have musical,

liquid names, such as Elbereth and Legolas (see appendix, #2).

His place -names, too, suggest differences in character. We

have the calm sense of domesticity that lies in The Shire

and Hobbiton (built on common British naming principles) ,

 LOS 137

the melodious harmony of the elves' domain in Rivendell and

. '

Lothlorien, and the ominous tone of Mordor and Barad-Dur,

home of the evil Sauron and his powers of darkness. Jane

Gaskell, in her Atlan trilogy, also devises fitting names

for many of her characters. Her heroine, Cija (pronounced

Key-a), has a name that clearly denotes femininity, but

the harsh shrillness of the name also suggests· some predatory

bird, which is in keeping with Cija's complexity of womanly

independence and even fierce shrewishness at times. Another

.main character, Zerd, has a 11-:1me that quite clearly arises

out of a different language stock (he is from another· nation)

and, because of its clenc;h-jawed ter·seness of sound; sug-

gests power and authority. In fact, Zerd is a military

conqueror who takes Atlantis by storm. i'!rlters of fantasy

have a special kind of freedom in their name-choices, but

concomitant with that freedom is the special responsibility

to fit the sound to the sehse and a6hieve internal con-

Edstency.

To achieve the effect of remoteness, an author may

choose actual historical names or invented names. If he

chooses historical names, he will most probably select the

name from:

1. Myths or traditibnal fictions)

2. Places that are geographically remote, or

J. Times that are historically remote.

If he selects invented names, they are likely to bee

1. Imitations of historical names based on the above

 criteria,

2. Unusual letter/sound combinations,

J. Class names (e.g., the Snow Queen, the Maid,

the Wizard of Oz, the Cheshire Cat)� or

4. Paronomasic names (e.g., Crayola Catfish,

Habu�dia, Saltheart Foamfollower).

Since fantasy literature tends to contain many characters

who possess· supernormal powers, one source of such characters

and their accompanying names is mythology, the various pan­

theons of Greece, Rome, Egypt, Vlales, the Norse and Finns,

peoples from Africa, Asia, the Americas - whatever body of

lore is available to the writer. Thus we have such stories

as "The Miniat�re" by Eden Phillpotts (itself a delightful,

and real, name), which casts Zeus, Hera, and th� other

Greek gods as observers of mankind. Or we have Evangeline

Walton's The Island of the l'vlighty, set in the world of

V!elsh mythology, or Andre Norton's Fur Magic, with names

and events drawn from American Indian myths. Alternatively,

a writer could take as his fantasy domain one already

imagined and peopled, as Mark Twain and T J. H. White do

with the Arthurian material in, respectively, A Connecticut

Yankee in King Arthur's Court and The Once and Future King,

deriving their names primarily from Malory's Morte D'Arthur

and Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Similarly, Michael

Moorcock presents Werther and Sisyphus in Stories from the

End of Time, and John Gardner retells the story of Grendel

 LOS 139

and Beowulf in Grendel. Occasionally, historical perso�ages

are mingled with fictitious characters and settings, as in

Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Celestial Railroad, " in which

Plato's works, among others, are used to fill up the Slough

of Despond, and Appolyon drives the train. Other examples

include E. M. Forster's "The telestial Omnibus, " which

employs Sir Thomas Browne, and Ray Bradbury's nThe Exiles, "

in which Dickens, Poe, Ambrose Bierce and others join forces

with the witches from Macbeth to defend Mars against the

invasion of rationali�tic science.

�ames of characters and. places from mythology, traditional

literat ure, or history may add a sense of heightened signifi­

cance, tragedy, or comedy to the fantasy. l�owever, such

hames impose limitations on the writer. The resulting story

may be just a curiosity, as is Phillpotts• "The Miniature, "

or a titillation for the cognoscenti. It may also approa.ch

translation of actual myths or a fictionalization of legend

similar to the historical novel. Characters and places are

limited by what readers already know of them, and deviations

from traditior1al character are punished by scorn or are

deliberately comic.

Another way to achieve the effect of remoteness is to

draw names from existing languages that are geographically

distant from the world of the reader. Thus, for instance,

Ernest Bramah (pen-name of E. B. Smith) set The Wallet of

Kai Lung, a collection of fabulous stories, in China, with

LOS 140

names like Yat Huang, Kiang-si, Li-Kao, Chang Tao, and

others. Thomas Burnett Swann set "The Night of the Unicorn"

on Cozume1, "tl_:J.e capital • . . of a small islanp off the·

Yucat�n peninsula, "2 Jane Ga::;kell's Atlan trilogy is set

partly in the ancient Mayan territory, and William Beckfor�'s

Vathek,· set primarily in the Middle East •. uses as its hero

an actual historical caliph of the Abbasid dynasty named

Harun al -Vlathik.J This technique is found more often in

older fantasy literature, how�ver, since modern speeds of

travel and communication leave very few corners of the

world seeming remote and alien.

Some of the previous names also illustrate another way

to achieve a sense of distance, that is, reference to names

from ancient history, especially if the places and persons

are little-known and long-forgotten. In his Jurgen, for

instance, James Branch Cabell re.fers to "the lands between

Quesiton and Nacumera, " names that sound invented but are

actually from The Voyages and Travels of Sir John de Mandeville. 4

Robert E. Howard, the creator of Conan the Bar barian, "picked

over Classical mythology for grim, stark names redolent of

dark evil, " as Lin Carter says; such as the kingdom of Acheron

(in "The God in the Bowl .. ) , the lands of Stygia and Dagoriia

(in "The Devil in Iron") , and the kingdom of Corinthia .5 In

fact, Carter takes him to task for his unimaginative use

of names like Akbatana (slightly altered from Ecbatana, the

capitol of ancient Media), Asgalun (from the old Biblical

.,
 LOS 141

city of A scalon), and Khor shemi sh (from the old Syrian city

Carchemi sh) 6
• A s Carter sum s up, " It doe s not pay 'to make

it too ea sy for the reader to gue s s the source from which

your name s are derived . . • . On ce you spot the source of the

name - poofl - all -the romance and my stery the author strove

to weave about it g� out the window. "7

To avoid thi s ri sk and achieve an even greater seo se

of di stance, therefore, mo st writer s of fanta sy literature

make up the name s they u se. They may do so, in the ;-fir st

place, by imitating name s from ancient myth s and remote

place s and time s. Thu s, for in stance, we find the Hebraic

,.,
quality of H. "
... . Lovecraft' s Yog-Sothoth and Kadath, the

Egyptian quality of the same author' s Nyarlathotep, and'

the ·antique French flavor of Gabell' s Poibt� sme. In Foul

Ander son' s continuation of the Robert E. Howard tradition,

Conan the Rebel, we find the actual Egyptian god Set (though

here a serpent rather than a wolf-headed man) and a group

of name s that come from or evoke at lea st eight different

language stock s: Egyptian, Arabian, Greek, Hebrew, Zambian,

}Jhilippi.ne, Ru s sian, and Gaelic ( see appendix, :;/9). An

'
intere sting variation of thi s practice i s u sed by Michael

Moorcock in hi s "Chronicle s of Ca stle Bra s s" serie s. There

we find place-name s that are obviou s derivation s from con-

temporary name s, slightly changed to give a medieval flavor,

such a s Gran Bre tagne and IVlu scovia. The name s of character s

are similarly medieval but reyre sent a mixture of influence s

( see appendix, dlO). Like the name s, the weapon s u sed by

LOS 142

these characters in this variation of chivalric romance are .

of mixed types, ranging from swords and armor to ornithopters

equipped with laser-like beams • . In such stories one looks

in vain for a consistent naming pattern because the books

are meant for fast-paced entertainment, not onomastic

scholarship.

Particularly common, given the reliance on magic in so

many fantasy stories, is the use of names drawn from the age

of Beowulf and the sagas. I n The Broken Sword, Poul Anderson

refers to Odin and Imrie, and uses such names as Orm the

Strong, Ketil A.smundsson, Asgerd, Ragnar Hairybreeks,

AElfrida, and other� (see appendix, #11). Tolkien gives

a similar flavor to names like Gandalf, Gimli, Frodo, and

Aragorn. The effect is to create a sense of a primitive

culture wherein magic and the belief in the preternatural

are not out of place.

·still further removed from reality are the exotic

names of pure invention, devised by combining letters and

apostrophes in ways totally alien to any known language

(see appendix, #12). What is most noticeable about such

names is their utter alienness, evoked not·only-by their

lexical opacity and their unfamiliarity, but even more

by the difficulty, and in some cases impossibility, of

pronouncing them, as if they- were not m.ade for modern,

or even human, mouths to utter. I n this categorj-:fi.t _

such names as Mmatmuor, R'lin K'ren A'a, Qa.r, and Xiurhn.

 LOS 143

Also noticeable among the Lest choices of 'invented names

is an attempt to fit the effect of the phonemes - deep and

harsh or high and gentle • to the characters and places

named . . One knows instantly that a young man named Thongor

(Lin Carter's "The City in the Jewel") will be strongly

thewed and firm of will, just as one knows that a person

named Thi�h is not to be tru�ted (he is a robber in Gary

Myers' "Xiurhn"). As Lin Carter says, quoting a letter

from C. S. Lewis, invented names "ought to be beautiful

and suggestive as well as strange; not merely odd."B He

laments that too many writers opt for the merely odd -

uncouth comoinations of X's, Z's and Q's - or seem to

get fixated on words beginning with the same letter, ending

with the same sound, or identical in numbers of syllables

and placement of stress.9 Even fantasy worlds must seem

_.--..,

actual while the reader is in them, and such sameness

does not create a sen�e of actuality.

It should be noted that in the above lists I have

made no attempt to ·separate place-names from person-names.

Nor have I included another class of names, the generic

words that authors invent for alien flora, fauna, and

minerals, such as Edgar Rice Burroughs' Martian (or

Barsoomian) pimalia plants, thoats, banths, and ersite

rock. That is matter for another day and/or another

person.

In the span of this paper I also can not go into

I,OS 144

detail on the kinds of names that denote a general class

(such as The King of the Golden West, the Wizard of Oz,

the Cheshir-e Cat, the Maid, the Faceless Ones, The Grey

Mouser, etc. ). Alice in Wonderland and the Oz books are

full of them, as are William Morris' fantasy novels among

others. These names achieve the effect of alienation,

since peo·ple j u.st do not have names like those, and also

create a sense of mystery because the name seems to say

both more and less than it does - more because it hints

at a whole class of persons like the one named, less

because it does not really individualize the person being

named.

Similarly I will barely mention those paronomasic and/or

lexically transparent names occasionally found in: fantasy,

such as Crayola Catfish from R. A. Lafferty's " Boomer Flats, "

Habundia from William Morris' The Water of the Viondrous

Isles, and Saltheart Foamfollower from Stephen R. Donaldson's

The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever. Since

the world of fantasy is essentially play, no matter how

serious and even deadly it might get, nam·es such as these

are not only more acceptable than they wou·ld be in realistic

fict�on (no matter how playful some parents actually get

.
with their children's names) but also help to keep the

spirit of make-believe alive. In addition, of course,

they add levels of meaning to the work similar to those

we are familiar with in all of our onomastic analyses.

 LOS 145

Fantasy literature, therefore, offers a vast and

fruitful field for the use of names. The determining

characteristics are essentially aptness and remoteness,

in keeping with that magical world which H. F. Lo'Vecraft

dalled the world of wonder.

Frederick l\L Burelbach

State University of New York

College at Brockport
LOS 146

APPENDIX: SAMPLE NAMES IN FANTASY L ITERATURE

1. TP,e Lord of the Rings• Dwarves 6. Howard's Conan Series

Gimli Acheron
Gl6in Stygia
Thorin Dagonia
Dain· Corinthia
Eofur Akbatana
Balin Asgalun
Khorshemish
2. T.he Lord of the Rings: Elves

Elbereth 7 . H . P. Lovecraft Names

Elladan
Yog-Sothoth
Elrohir
Kadath
Elrond
Nyarlathotep
L�thien
Cthulhu
Legolas
Y'ha -nthlei
J. The Lord·. of the Rings a Places
8. J. B. Cabell Names
The Shire
Jurgen
Hobbiton
PoJ.ctesme·
. ,..

Rivendell
I'·.
LothlorJ.en 9. Poul Anderson, Gonan
Mordor
"
Set
Barad-Dur
Luxur
4. Gaskell's Atlan Trilogy Tothapis
Akhbet
Cija
Sukhmet
Zerd
Taia
5. The Wallet of Kai Lung Pteion

Yat Huang Jehanan

Kiang-si Hoiakim

Li-Kao Bangulu (cf. Bangweulu

Lake in Zambia)
Chang Tao '
Zamboula· (cf. the
province of Zambales
in the Philippines)
Kush (cf. Russian
Kushka)
 LOS 147

10. Moorcock's Castle Brass series 12. cont 'd . • .

Places: Gran Bretagne (Clark Ashton Smith)

Londra (capital of G. Bretagne) Malygris

Koln Maal Dweb

Muscovia Mmatmuor

Amarehk (Ted White, The

Asiacommunista Sorceress or-Qar)
Qar
People& Josef Vedla
Zominor
Huillam D'Averc
Shanathor
Dowgentle
Vagar
Dorian Hawkmoon
Yisselda . (Dave Van Arnam,
The Players of Hell)
Count Brass
Tza
111. Poul Anderson, Broken Sword Tir'u

Orm the Strong Tchambar

Ketil Asmundsson Shagon

Asgerd Shassa

Ragnar Hairybreeks (Gary Myers,

Guthorm "Xiurhn")

Athelstane Xiurhn

AElfrida Hazuth-Kleg

Valgard Skaa

Skafloc Dylath-Leen
N'tse-Kaambl
12. Exotic Invented Names
Thish (ihe robber)
(Lord Dunsany)
Akanax (Lin Carter, "The
City in the Jewel")
Goolunza
Thongor
Thangobrind
Yllimdus
Lorendiac
Zazamanc the
Zaccarath Enchanter
Thanga of Esk Mountains of
Mornmur
(�ichael Moorcock)
Kathool of the
Irnrryr Purple Towers
R'lin K'ren A'a
r,os 148

NOTES

1 Tymn, Zahorski, and l3oyer, Fa�tasy Literature: A

Core Collection and Reference Guide (New York& Bowker,

1979) t p. 23.

2 Discoveries in Fantasy, ed. Lin Carter (New York:

Ballaritine Books, 1972), pp. 7-56, and The Year's Best

Fantasy Stories: 2, ed. Lin Carter (New York: DAW Books,

1976), pp. 28-33 ff.

3 Lin Carter, Imaginary Worlds (New York: Ballantine

Books, 1973), p. 18.

'+
Lin Carter, I maginary 1/lorld s, p. 41.

5 Ibid. , p. 194.

6 Ibid . , p. 195·

7 I bid. , p. 196.

8 I bid., P• 201.

9 Carter·has a whole chapter on what he calls "neocognomina"

in I maginary Worlds, pp. 192-212; I owe him a great deal. As

for some brief comments on syllables and stress, see my

"Look! Up in the Sky! It's What's-His-Name!" Literary

Onomastic Studies 5 (1978),. 46-47.