What's In A Name?, esoteric thought here..look out

As a painter, I deal with visual symbols. As a student of art history, I've had to acquaint myself with the symbolism behind everyday objects to understand what the meaning of a painting includes beyond its mere elements: for example why a still life might include rotting fruit or a musical instrument.

So, now I find myself wondering something completely philosophical and esoteric. It's about world building and fantasy worlds. I think it's kind of standard fantasy fare that if a place is non-historical, alternate earth--authors are encouraged to create things from scratch--new names for everything: coinage, flora and fauna, weight and measures, customs and courtesies---to give the piece a unique feel, a carefully thought out and newly crafted place of the imagination.

Believe me, I am all for the careful word choice--far better to say "sweet clover" rather than "the ground" if you were describing something you might see if you were looking down at your shoes. And I suppose, if I wanted to make something sound other than earth I might say "red thatch" instead.

But here is my esoteric question--is what we gain in a new world of imagining equal to what we might lose in the ability to express subtext and theme through symbol? If we are talking symbolically, "red thatch" and "the ground" are equal in meaning. "Clover" however contains connotation--potential symbolic meaning--depending on the knowledge of the reader. In a painting, there is a symbolic difference between an wren and a sparrow---perhaps too in writing--if we make up a word for a new bird haven't we lost something? Is it part of a world builder's job to reconnect all these lost symbols or does it even matter to today's readers? Although it wouldn't pass my eye unnoticed, I think it might to others. Therefore err on the side of novelty? As a reader, do you think it matters either way?

I have heard fiction writers speaking about the difficulty of writing historical fiction, where everything must be meticulously researched and readers will notice small deviations from accuracy.

Straight fiction allows more flexibility, but I think you are right, Kato, that if invention is not done with a purpose and does not emerge organically out of the story, it can be lazy rather than illuminating. I think the best invented worlds do weave the themes and new creations into a believable whole.

I often find invented words jarring, especially when there is an occasional made-up piece of jargon, but many other places which might equally call for a new word use our conventions. This should not be something I am daydreaming about when I should be paying attention to the story.


And I'm not talking about neologisms like Sarah Palin's "refudiate".

Ooh, an esoteric discussion on word, name, story, and literary symbology! OK, I'll jump in.

Yep, there are symbols, both graphical and verbal (word-based).

The icons Sabina is making for the Shejidan forum are examples of graphical symbols given meanings within the context of the forum of form and function related to the Foreigner novels. Sabina has sought input, feedback, so she knows how well those icons communicate their meaning at a glance, to get them to an ideal state, the optimum for the icon to transmit its meaning.

But the topic was symbols for storytelling purposes.

How well does the given word convey a meaning? That's a denotation and a connotation, since most words have both; in fact, most words have multiple connotations, dependent on context, or simultaneous, or mutually exclusive or inclusive.

What level of "granularity" does the symbol have for its meaning? That is, how specific or how general is it?

The meaning may be naturally imbued. Some things have a certain inherent meaning to most humans.

The meaning may be arbitrary, assigned based on common agreement or on fiat; it's that way because we said so. Never mind that someone who's never seen it before may not know the meaning, and never mind that someone from another group may assign it a different meaning.

The meaning may be acquired by association. That meaning may shift, morph, move, over time, as the concepts it represents change.

Storytelling is done in words and sometimes acted out.

If I say words you know, then you'll tend to associate things with them automatically, from your culture. If you see I'm using the words in a different way, then you begin to acquire the meanings I'm associating with them, to adapt to the alternate usage.

If I combine words in a way you don't know or understand, then you figure them out from context, or you ask me (or someone) about the meaning. Or you again build up the meaning from how you observe me using them together.

If I use words you've never heard before, then you really have to use observation to learn their meanings, even if you can parse the words' component parts to determine a likely meaning.

If I use words that are entirely foreign to you, from another language, or entirely made up, then you -- ask or you figure it out.

Do you see or hear the word written or spoken or signed clearly? That may interfere with your ability to use the word with others, to transmit it from the people who use it natively, through you, to others who don't know it.

Do you guess a particular meaning? Does that test out in practice, or do you revise and retest until you have it right?

Oddly enough, some things may have a kernel of suggested meaning, an atom or an archetype, simply by what they are, or by the sounds / signs we give them.

Suppose I give you an unknown word.

Does the sound of it, the shape of it, suggest something to you already? Perhaps not, until you've found it in context. Or perhaps you already have some idea what you think it means. If you're right, fine; if you're wrong, well, you revise.

Does the thing it names have some inherent properties like other things you are familiar with? Aha! Then you begin applying connotations automatically, and test them out against the new item; or else you assign nothing to the somewhat alike thing, until you see what it's like. (Similarly if the word is an action, a verb, or other parts of speech.)

Does the thing not represent anything you're familiar with? It's totally new, beyond your experience? Then most likely, you start off with a blank and fill in as you go. Or you test out various connotations and revise as you go.

Why am I spending so much time arguing basic background knowledge? Because, chances are, as you read the story and come across new, unknown, foreign concepts, you have some sort of idea what that thing might represent, and you go from there. Or you're adding to the unknown as you go, to make it a known (or at least a relatable) quantity or quality.

What I'm getting at is that there are so many things we know from our experience that we can guess, with varying accuracy, what a new thing might be, based on what we observe of it.

If I tell you there's a herd of uruus in the veldt and a party of hani are going to hunt them, or that there's a fine uruus steak on the table, or a large uruus carcass has given its all to fill a patched-together spacesuit, you begin making tentative comparisons as to what an uruus might be. Likewise for a mecheita to ride, or if a dusei (no, dusei is the plural, I've forgotten the singular) or a ha-dusei is accompanying the kellin.

If I tell you a warrior is coming at you weilding a batleth, chances are, you've guessed it has some sort of weapon-like function. You'll certainly know when you see him or her running at you with the thing. You'll have better luck guessing what blood-wine or Saurian brandy might be.

If I say there's a lightsaber duel going on, you can guess they are using some sort of swords.

You might not have as much luck guessing what a Qualta blade is, but you'd at least be partly right.

I suppose my point is that some things are so archetypal that we can put some meaning to them right away, while others are comparable, and others, though they are not familiar, we can begin to know their meanings.

Part of the interest of a science fiction or fantasy story, or a story of a foreign place or time and people, is that we puzzle out what things mean as the story unfolds. Like with a new language, we may be completely lost and overwhelmed at first, but as we go, we add bits here and there, until we are acclimated and fluent, or at least enough to get by.

I grok that.

It seems to me that stating the question in that way is missing (or perhaps highlighting the lack of) a dimension of the problem.

I think it's important to recognise that the meaning of symbols changes over time as the zeitgeist shifts around them. The time and place setting of the symbolism is now needed to set an appropriate context for the symbol to be interpreted.

An example: I am of an age where the first meaning to me of the symbol '<' is the mathematical meaning of 'less-than'. My daughters are of a different age: to them, the first meaning of the symbol '<' is 'rewind'.

And to the current generation '<' is part of emoticons, for example: (>.<), (<.<), ('<').

In a way you probably lose meaning as much as you gain meaning. There are certain words and symbols one can now only use in one way and one context, all others having become taboo.

As far as made-up words go, I rather like "frak." It sounds SO much nicer than what I usually say ...

And when I see "<", I'm wondering whether it is a new character, perhaps a child in Voyager in Night.

Definitions and meanings of words morph and migrate over time.

Awful used to mean 'filled with awe.' Now its means 'terrible.'

Gay in my lifetime has changed from happy, joyful to male homosexual. (I once heard Truman Capote say that he did not like gay as a description because the word was too frivolous for a serious subject.)

I was in a larger bookstore for once this weekend and while digging around in the reference section I happened across this book.

Guide to Writing Fantasy and Science Fiction

I picked it up and turned randomly to chapter 22---which you can do in the amazon reader, go to to the table of contents and click on chapter 22.

After I read this, it brought me in part, to this very question-- what's in a name?

A good piece of what makes fantasy such an appealing reader experience is the discovering of a new place, new ideas, characters who are different from ourselves, and yet the same too. It's the mix of "other" and familiar. It's the idea that even though the places these characters live in, the world they call home, the struggle to be in which they suffer can be widely different, even exotic in nature--something about that experience is universal.

Where is that Universality to be found? The inner journey. So what of the outer trappings? How much does it matter and how should it be crafted?

What we read in this sample from the book works as a method for reaching that goal--different. It's different. But for me at least it holds no other meaning other than different. If the author wishes symbolism or subtext to go with this scene, he will have to spoon feed it to me in either exposition or clever description.

In draft five, she's hanging her pack on the branch of a sipplewood. But, this scene could take on a completely different meaning if she were hanging her pack on the branch of a sycamore, one that held a crow or two. (a hanging tree, with the carrion birds that favor the eyes) We haven't lost something that the author couldn't put back in...but it doesn't exist at the moment. Yet on the other hand, a reader having read both versions, may not pick up on the intended symbolism of the latter.

Does it matter? Should it matter? The sipplewood is a prop, a prop with a fancy name that tells us nothing other than it's different, in name only.

A sycamore is a more concrete description. If you've seen a sycamore, it might bring the scene to life visually, perhaps even add a touch of symbolism with the right prodding. All in using just one word. But it sounds like I am implying that to write richly with depth, that you have to stick to the real world. No, that's not really it... I think in trying to always be novel, something gets lost in translation. Easy to put back in, but often left by the wayside.

Yes, yes, it harkens directly back to another comment of mine about whether or not setting matters....I'm still thinking about it. Obviously.

Anyway, this is what came to mind this weekend whilst browsing the book store.

one stray thought on the matter. If a writer wants to put in the symbolism of an alien culture (be it Kif of Aztec) the reader must be taught what that symbolism is first. So the words of the locals must be used enough that the reader recognizes what it means to the aliens.

A one time, throw-away alien word will not do this. As was said earler, this will only show that we're not on familiar ground anymore.

Continuing that thought, spence, it could be a sipplewood precisely to *avoid* the symbolism attached to familiar trees, like oak and sycamore. The write does not *want* the symbolism of the known earth/human to be part of this world and so creates a new thing/place/custom/etc., to avoid attaching symbolism of what is familiar to the reader. The other option would be to use the sycamore with the crows, only changing the symbolism to be good fortune (crows) and shelter (sycamore) because sycamore is so common it is used for most building or is sacred to this group which is in charge of building hostels. Depends upon the purpose behind the thing and the world and the story.

Explaining what is symbolic to the people in that world is generally done, if not immediately noticed, because later the reader reacts with "oooh, that's going to be bad!" or something of the sort when character x uses thingy z to do something and insults group n...and character x doesn't know why everyone is angry with him.

IMHO
Some words and phrases are more evocative than others. They seem to work best when explained within the context of the story. If sipplewood is a throwaway meant to evoke an alien landscape it does not work for me. If sipplewood is a building material, a species with an invasive root system, or an edible leaf etc., then it begins to functions within the world. It's background, the 90% of writing that isn't seen that makes a thing alien and workable.

The first time I saw the word 'woolwood' I had a definite, alien image in my mind, further enhanced by descriptions of preservation, use etc.(I seem to recall writing that it was based on cottonwood.)

It seems to me that, when dealing with an imaginary milieu, a new story-universe, the writer must build for the audience a base of understanding from which to infer the new subtext and find the themes. The audience have the task of discovering the meanings of all the new constructs just as they would if exploring a new land and a new people with words and customs unknown to them. Whether in science fiction and fantasy or in historical fiction or mystery, or in fact, in real-world exploration, that's the task we, as the audience go through. It's much the same in other problem solving; we're still going through a process of discovery, observation, hypothesis, evaluation, and revising of our view of the problem.

One of the things I was trying to get across in my earlier post was the similarity between speculative fiction's exploration of a new world and the new places, lifeforms, and peoples of previously unknown lands, such as the "New World" of the Americas, or the Far East, and so on.

Some of the attempts by early explorers, and the interpretations by the artists back in the old country illustrated that. I recall an illustration of a rhinoceros made by a European artist who had not seen one, but was working from a description. The artist got the body and proportions mostly correct, amazingly, but the rhino's hide was drawn, quite whimsically, in conquistadorial 16th century armor.

Other cases like that include how things completely alien to the European explorers were named. A thing might get a name that closely matched what it was, by combining European words. Or perhaps the name was not very close, but served anyway. Or the name might be taken from a native word, but mangled through the Europeans' brief contact and poor understanding of the pronunciation and re-filtering into a European approximation reshaping the word. Or the name might be the result of a bad misunderstanding between the Europeans and the native people over just what they were discussing. Then, of course, there were things entirely made up, out of a poetical/musical impulse for a word that sounded good, like it fit the thing being named.

For that matter, it works the same for the other people trying to figure out those strange Westerners.

It's much the same when we pick up a new book. Do we know all about the story's world, the setting and characters, the symbology or how the characters view the world? No, we discover those.

Even if the writer uses primarily made-up words, or perhaps real but foreign words, we are still going to form an idea-web of how things and ideas in the story are connected and what they mean.

I was amused by Kato's statement that

For me, at least they aren't. Like the image invoked by "woolwood", "red thatch" immediately made me think of a traditional roofing method. Obviously this plant is somehow used to keep rainwater out of homes.