Humans have long been obsessed with language and communication. Our Non-fiction workshop spent the first few weeks discussing how the beginning of human consciousness found meaning, which you can read more about in my blog post, “Writing as Expression”. But the question that I want to delve into is now that humans have developed language (not just orally but as symbols), is our use of language – from selecting words to weaving complex stories – just words? Or is there something more that underlies it. And what places do names hold in this? Are they more or less special than other words? Or are they even different?

My case study to examine language is Christopher Paolini’s Inheritance Cycle. In this fantasy world, there is a magic language known to elves, dragon riders, and demonic creatures and humans. Within this language lies the true word for physical or verbal representatives. For example, let’s take water. Water you pour into a glass is the physical (object) representative. If you use water’s name in the magic language, you draw up its essence. Not the stuff you drink or pour, but the mystical property that is the pure essence of water. The same thing can be done for metals, rocks and even man made items such as a sword.

To continue to my point however, the rules to this world and language suggest there is great intentionality in the choice of words, and a powerful meaning behind each one. My example is at the end of the series.

SPOILER ALERT

The evil king, King Galbatorix, through decades of research and hell-bent determination, learned the magic name of the ancient, magic language, giving him control of all of magic and therefore the world.

END SPOILER ALERT

This example suggests that power lies not just in the power of words, but in the power of names. This is a central ploy throughout the series, with characters hiding their name as it is in the magic language, because whoever knows it has access to that individual’s essence, and as such, has the power to control them.

To bring this back to the real world, the discussion of names and their lack of importance came up in our Non-fiction I workshop. We discussed how words, and so names, are simply arbitrary. Why does water mean the liquid which all life needs to sustain life? What truly binds that concept to the word water? It would seem just the fact that everyone uses that word to mean as such, and so now there’s an expectation that everyone learns that water is this life sustaining liquid.

But… what if, at the beginning of language development, someone picked the word fire to mean this life-sustaining liquid? And then that go passed down through the eons, just as water has? What would make “fire” different than “water” today? Nothing.

So then are words just arbitrary, if their assigned meanings are just random, and could be switched if enough people went along? While that might work, ONLY if enough people went along with it, I don’t think so.

I’m going to delve into poetry a bit here, and argue the words we use are important to the greater picture. Words are the building blocks to sentences, sentences to paragraphs, and paragraphs to narratives. In the architecture of these great structures (narratives), I believe it is crucial to carefully place each and every piece to the foundation (words). How the word sounds, how it feels, how it looks should all be considered.

I like to make a couple music references here, when I think of precision word usage, and that is to Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite, and Michael Torke’s Bright Blue Music. If you listen to either, it sounds like a nest of notes, all jumbled together in a chaotic and messy way (especially Firebird Suite). However, if you listen to it proactively (or, especially perform it as I have done) you begin to get a sense for the precise choices Stravinsky made. Not a sixteenth rest is out of place. The same can be said for Bright Blue Music. It is my belief that if a narrative is carefully constructed and solidly built at the word and sentence level, then it will help the bigger picture (the story) be more successful and well crafted (though I should mention care also needs to be given to the storyline – nothing excuses a poorly delivered plot).

To go back to names however, in our workshop discussion, we wondered whether names have an impact on the story, specifically in the context of your own (if it’s a memoir style of writing). Our professor noted that he never used his name in his published writing. This discussion came up because it was notable that a girl in our class used her own name in her story.

If names are really this notable, then contrary to our discussion, I would argue there is great significance to names. If using a name changes the tone to a story, then it does matter. I argued that for many people, our sense of identity revolves greatly around our names. And I think Paolini would agree, since the way to control a creature in his world, is to know its true name.

Until next time,

Joe