blueoncemoon

With an affectionate sigh (due to its extensive etymology and oft-changing names), let’s look to Korea.

The easiest name to explain is Seoul (서울), which is a native Korean word literally translating to “Capital City”. It is believed to be derived from Seorabeol (서라벌) which originally referred to Gyeongju, Korea’s capital during the Silla Dynasty.

Throughout the Joseon Dynasty, Seoul was occasionally referred to as “Gyeongseong” (경성), which is a Sino-Korean word also meaning “Capital City”. This was the name by which Seoul was called during the Japanese occupation, as well, since Gyeongseong was the Korean version of the Japanese name Keijou (京城, “Capital City”).

Bonus Korean capital name: During the Goryeo Dynasty, Pyeongyang was called “Seogyeong” (서경), which means “Western Capital”.(Pyeongyang literally means “flat land” becaaaaause… the area is flat AF! Surprise!)

Now for China. Beijing (北京) and Nanjing (南京) mean “northern capital” and “southern capital” respectively, and the Mandarin name for Tokyo (Dongjing, 东京) means “eastern capital”.

Astana (Астана) in Kazakh means “capital city”. Additionally, very briefly in the early 20th century, Kazakhstan’s capital lay in the south-central region and was called Kzyl-Orda (Қызыл орда), meaning “red capital”.

After gaining independence in 1911, Mongolia’s capital was referred to as Niislel Khüree (Нийслэл Хүрээ, “capital camp”).

During multiple periods in history, Cambodia’s capital was Angkor, which is a vernacular form of the Sanskrit word “nagara” (नगर) which means “capital”.

As for Australia, my understanding is that “Canberra” is an Aboriginal word which translates to “meeting place” and linguistically serves the same purpose as “capital”.

These are just a few of the world’s capitals that are literally named some variant of “capital city” in their native tongues. Many more are named after geographical features, such as Algiers (which references the four islands found off the city’s cape) or Bukhansan (북한산), another historic name for Seoul which means “mountains north of Han (Great) River”.

Turns out, humans tend to be really fucking uncreative when it comes to naming things. Proper nouns—and location names in particular—have historically been descriptive and functional. They sound exotic or unique to us now due to linguistic drift or because they’re in a foreign language, but at one point in time (or to speakers of the language of origin) they were/are quite “boring” and uninventive.

If an author chooses not to create an entirely new language for their fictional world (which is understandable; not all authors are Tolkien, and even he drew heavily from Finnish and Welsh—as well as Greek and Latin—when constructing Quenya and Sindarin... to make no mention of his simply using Old English as a stand-in for Rohirric) it would make perfect sense for many of their new world’s names to be rendered in modern English, as Tolkien did for Westron. In such circumstance, these names would reasonably still bear the mark of their inspiration: whether that be their designation as the capital, or their surrounding geographical features.

And to put a final cap on things with the Tolkien mention, even he wasn’t above some linguistic “laziness”. Take, for example, the name of Théoden, King of the Rohirrim. In Old English, “þeoden” means “chief of a people”, ergo “King Théoden” literally means “King King”!

(It’s doubly adorable when taking into consideration the fact that Tolkien frequently inverted title and name when conveying the Rohirrim’s perspective, and yet even backward “Théoden King” still means “King King”!)

Shakespeare LOVED him some meaningful names: Desdemona (“ill-fated” or “unlucky”) Mercutio, a character who is erratic, i.e. mercurial Dorothy 'Doll' Tearsheet, a prostitute Nell Quickly who’ll give you a quickie ;) Toby Belch (a comical and crude character) Peter Thump (because he thumps Thomas Horner)

Meanwhile, literally every single Dickens character ever: Pip, a little tiny guy who is a seed pip who winds up growing Estella (‘Her light came along the dark passage like a star,’ in case it was too subtle) Mr. Bumble, a particularly ridiculous character Jaggers, a prickly character Biddy, who does as she’s bidden Thomas Gradgrind, who puts his students on the grind Mr. Sowerberry, who “sows” (or buries) bodies Mr. M’Choakumchild, who would definitely choke a child &c. &c. &c.

For some REAL fun, dig into Asterix and Obelix!

These are charactonyms: fictional names which convey some aspect of their character. Charactonyms have a long and (ahem) storied history, and are fundamental to literature and its analysis.

Because—and I cannot emphasise this enough—fiction is not reality. In real life, there are no Chekhov’s guns, the colour of one’s curtains does not necessarily convey deeper meaning, and names are given with intention but not foresight. But in literature, it is standard for mentioned items to have later relevance, it is expected that the curtains’ colour (if specified) carries significance, and names are filtered through the lens of their purpose in the story.

It’s perfectly fine for readers to prefer “realistic” names in fiction, but even “realistic” names in and of themselves bear significance. Harry Potter is an ordinary name because it is supposed to evoke the notion of an ordinary boy turning saviour of the wizarding world. The name Elizabeth Bennet mimics her unremarkable social standing and makes her accessible to the reader. Anne Shirley’s name is so plain she makes up a new name for herself, which is a fundamental feature of her nature!

But for characters who are not defined by their ordinariness, their name is an additional opportunity to imbue meaning. For every Harry Potter there’s a Ned Stark. For every Elizabeth Bennet there is a Caspar Milquetoast. For every Anne Shirely there is a Long John Silver. These names might sound “silly” in ordinary life, but so does thinking that every item stumbled across will come back around in the future.

All that being said, sometimes real life IS just as strange as fiction! (See: aptronyms.) Should we go and tell Usain Bolt that he can’t be the fastest person on the planet because that makes his name “unrealistic”? Or Bob Rock that he made a mistake producing for Metallica and Aerosmith? Maybe we can get a time machine and go back to tell Wordsworth to knock off writing, or Alexander Graham Bell not to invent the telephone, or Marc Webb not to direct The Amazing Spider-Man.

My personal observation is that the bookish community tends to get a bee in its bonnet about specific books and/or authors, and subsequently give absolutely no charity to even the most benign aspects of those works. There is plenty of valid criticism to be had of contemporary popular media (...don’t even get me started on Colleen Hoover!) but somehow that frequently seems to get twisted into presenting subjective preferences as objective fact, whilst ignoring longstanding literary tradition.

So the next time BookTok props up yet another poorly-written and barely-edited romantasy with a protagonist bearing a “stupid” appellation, perhaps take a half-moment to consider whether it’s really THAT out of place amongst Robin Hood, Aslan, Ned Stark, and other standards of literary canon.