“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Blah blah blah… we’re all familiar with this quotation from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, whether it was exhaustedly drummed into your brain at GCSE, you are an avid Shakespeare fan like me, or you simply soaked it up due to the play’s prevalence. Nevertheless, Juliet may have a point. Do we hear people’s names and immediately assume something about them? And how do namesakes sculpt and change our individual sense of identity? Even if your name is scarce enough never to be found on keychains and water bottles in gift shops, namesakes in literature and pop culture can still be significant. In asking where your name comes from, and who it is shared by, we can ask how this has made us who we are.

“Do we hear people’s names and immediately assume something about them?”

Personally, in delving into my own name, I see that there are several Beatrices to choose from. Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing springs to mind: a feisty, witty, and possibly proto-feminist character in Shakespeare’s comedy. Her playful back-and-forth with Benedick and strength were always inspiring to me and I was thankful that she sustained her sense of humour even when in love. I far preferred Beatrice to her cousin, the submissive and somewhat pathetic Hero. Despite enduring titillations from my class in Year 9 English, as I was always encouraged to play her part, I feel proud to share her name.

Then there’s Beatrice Portinari from Dante’s Divine Comedy, a tragic character whose premature death motivates a trip through hell. She is the embodiment of divine grace and beauty, yet I cannot say I identified immediately with her character. I was far more drawn to characters like Beatrice ‘Tris’ Prior in Veronica Wroth’s Divergent. Embarrassingly, in a running joke with my friend, I insisted that I would re-invent myself as ‘Tris’ when I went to University. Thankfully, I abandoned this prospect before coming to Cambridge. The draw of Tris was her rejection of confinement, her daring, and, of course, her dystopian dauntlessness. I would definitely say that literary namesakes have sculpted my sense of self; causing a spark of recognition like hearing your name spoken from afar.

If you have ever looked into the meaning of your name, I can guess that you have been greeted by definitions from Latin to the marginally less trustworthy Urban Dictionary. The Latin definition of my name has stuck with me: “she who brings joy,” not just an expectation, but now an aspiration. My sister’s name, Juliet (and no my family don’t all have Shakespearean names), once yielded the meaning “bearded father of the sky,” a definition that afforded eight-year-old me hours of mirth. Whether actively or subconsciously, I have cemented the meaning of my name into my identity.

“The ability to choose a name is a freedom that can help overcome projections from others”

Circling back to Juliet’s original question, I wonder whether shared names impact other’s perceptions of us and how writers contribute to this phenomenon. I believe that representation, whether in appearance, religion, ethnicity, sexuality, or ability, is profoundly important in constructing a sense of self.

Jane Austen is known for tactically naming the most likeable characters after herself: the beautiful, sweet, and accomplished Jane Bennet, the eldest Bennet daughter who effortlessly charms Mr Bingley in Pride and Prejudice.

On the other hand, authors like J.K. Rowling have endorsed harmful stereotypes in naming some of their characters. In Harry Potter, one of the only Black characters is named Kingsley Shacklebolt, perpetuating micro-aggressions in an era that is still so vastly affected by inequality and discrimination. Rowling’s choice was insensitive, to say the least, not to mention harmful towards efforts to end racist portrayals in literature and film. Characters can become caricatures and their names unfortunately reflect this.

Malcolm X (alongside many other Black activists) chose to reject his former surname, “Little,” viewing it a token of his ancestors’ enslavement. In this, he refused to allow the oppression  that they faced wash over him. He chose the surname ‘X’ to project strength, to reflect his evolving experiences, and to honour his lost forebear’s name.

In this regard, the ability to choose a name is a freedom that can help overcome projections from others, granting empowerment from self-determination. Viewing people’s chosen names as synonymous with their ‘true’ names is crucial. For instance, it’s a common practice for many trans and non-binary people to change their name to something they feel better aligns with their gender identity, which ought always be respected (and, often, celebrated!). We must give ourselves the freedom to reject namesakes and cultivate our own identities rather than always following that which may already be laid out for us.

Here, I would say that honouring namesakes and meanings of names can be generative, but it is important not to view names as fateful. You are still able to denounce others’ perceptions of you in favour of self-determination.

Either way, I would encourage you to explore where your name pops up and to look at its meanings. Which of your namesakes do you identify with, for instance? I must, however, nudge you to remember how names are not always prophecies to be fulfilled...

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