What's in a Name?

by Alexa Diamant

via flickr by Steve Jurvetson

The enemies have taken over the ship! Quick, Captain, we must board our escape pods and find life somewhere else. But before we go, you’ll need to verify your identity to access the pods. What do you mean you don’t know? What’s that you say—the author changed it again? Damn those writers and their incessant need to constantly change our names!

We’ve all been there—creating new worlds, developing storylines, and even agonizing over the details of our characters’ outfits. But then comes the moment of truth: the name. It’s the detail that really matters, right? In a universe where every protagonist needs that special mix of brooding stoicism and undeniable charm, it only makes sense that authors push the boundaries of creativity, giving us characters with names like Archer Steel-Gunn or Celestia Twilight Obsidian—because how else could we possibly understand they’re tortured souls with secret powers?

As readers, we arrive with expectations shaped by decades of stories. A name like ‘Merlin’ automatically conjures images of a wise and powerful wizard. So, when we’re introduced to ‘James the Normal,’ our brains scramble to make the connection. Did we accidentally pick up a comedic fantasy instead? Or did the author just lose a bet? It’s like when your favorite musician hypes up a new album, but when it finally drops, it sounds like it was written by a group of tone-deaf kindergartners who’ve never seen a guitar. The nerve.

From personal experience, I’ve always thought a name was the ultimate selling point of a story. If I pick up a book and the protagonist’s name is Pamela, I immediately regret picking it up (sorry, Poison Ivy—I still love you!). I mean, how is someone named Pamela going to save the world? If a character has a bland, generic name, I tend to think they’re as ordinary as they come, incapable of anything exciting. Is that a bit much? Maybe, but let’s be real: Harry Potter? Really? As much as I love the books, I can’t help but think, Why not name him Phineas Greymark or something? I get the whole “ordinary kid who turns out to be a hero” thing, but come on. We could’ve done better.

And yet, going in the opposite direction with an outlandish name isn’t the answer, either. Some writers search so hard for uniqueness that they end up in a frenzy of spell-sounding names and titles like Zethophyll Valori, which sounds more like a spell ingredient than a person. It’s distracting, and it often pulls readers out of the story just to puzzle over how to pronounce it. But what is it about naming that makes it such a tough, often frustrating process? Storytelling is already hard enough, but once we pick a name it feels like the whole story is either made or broken by it. Maybe we’ve had a name in mind since the first spark of our idea, or maybe we’ve changed it a hundred times as the plot developed to fit some theme we thought sounded clever. Either way, making a name final is one of the most exhausting decisions a writer can face. But there’s a middle ground here. Ideally, a name shouldn’t be so basic that it’s forgettable, nor should it be so excessive that it outshines the character’s journey. There’s a gray area—a space where names can be distinctive without being distracting.

Choosing a name that’s “just right” for a character reflects the balancing act that writing itself often requires. Writers must select names that fit both the character’s world and personality, while also ensuring they don’t feel forced. In genres like fantasy, for example, names can be unusual but still need a touch of familiarity to resonate with readers. Even names that are distinct and memorable, like Frodo or Arya, feel natural despite their uniqueness. Naming isn’t just a creative choice—it’s a reflection of genre-specific expectations. A name can set the tone for an entire narrative: an epic fantasy hero might carry a weighty, mythical name like Alaric or Morgana to signal destiny, while a romance protagonist might have a simpler, more relatable name like Lily or Ben. Straying too far from these expectations, such as giving a modern detective the name “Jonesy Snoopwell” or an ancient knight “Ralph,” risks breaking immersion and alienating the reader. Genre conventions exist for a reason, aligning names with the moods they evoke and shaping how readers engage with the story from the outset. The key is to find that gray area between “too generic” and “too bizarre.”

via Unsplash by Kourosh Qaffari

Some writers dive into the world of the absurd, naming characters after obscure mythological figures or languages that no one speaks. Suddenly, instead of a relatable hero, we have a protagonist named Dracari Xenoxylda, whose backstory becomes secondary to the challenge of pronouncing their name in a book club meeting. But go too simple, and you might end up with a name like Justin, which could leave readers questioning whether they're reading a superhero tale or finding themselves in the puke-stained living room of a Podcast Bro discussing why they just can’t get back into the whole superhero thing anymore. There’s a balance to strike: a name needs to be distinctive enough to stand out, but it shouldn’t overshadow the character or become a distraction in the narrative.

​What I’m really trying to say here is that there’s no story without a calculated naming process. Unless you’re a literary legend like C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, or George R.R. Martin (initialism kings), your character’s name won’t be known throughout the world. Naturally, a strong name ties immeasurably into the effectiveness of allusion. For instance, when someone tells you not to be cranky, they say, “Don’t be a Scrooge!” No one ever says, “Don’t be a Michael!” Because that’s not a character trait—it’s just a name.

In the end, it’s up to us to give our characters the justice they deserve. Whether that be cursing them with alliteration (I’m looking at you, Peter Parker) or gracing them with old money (because ‘Bruce Wayne’ screams playboy) we hold the power to shape their identities. Let’s remember, though, that while a name can be a defining trait, it shouldn’t overshadow the depth of their stories. So, as we embark on this literary journey, let’s aim for names that resonate—ones that spark intrigue rather than induce eye rolls. Because if we’re going to dive into the complex web of heroism and villainy, we might as well do it with a character name that doesn’t sound like it was pulled from an outdated baby name book or the reject pile of a fantasy generator. After all, a well-crafted name can be the first step in leaving behind a story people will remember for decades to come.