Sister Marie was right, of course: everyone has a name.
— Kate DiCamillo, The Magician’s Elephant
A recent survey by Mumsnet suggests that one in five mothers experiences “namer’s remorse, “ a phenomenon in which, whether for simple second-guessing to the effects of changing circumstances or world events (imagine if you had, for instance, named your child the once-popular Isis), a parent might wish they had named their child something else. Some six percent, the survey shows, have harbored enough regret that they have taken pains to change the name legally.
Everyone does have a name. Or at least that’s what Sister Marie told Adele—sister of Peter Augustus Duchene—who lives in the Orphanage of the Sisters of Perpetual Light, a “grim, dark building” the author finds to be improbably named. It seems not improbable at all, then, to find this building “in a narrow alley, off a narrow street, ” both, unsurprisingly, quite unnamed.
When we meet small Adele, her name feels as small as she does in her small bed, in her “cavernous dorm room.” And yet we will soon discover Adele’s name to be the largest of all the names (and there are many) in Kate DiCamillo’s The Magician’s Elephant. a book we are reading together in community over the next three weeks. It is Adele’s name, though it may feel small in the mouth, that is vast enough to find its way into a beggar’s song, that finds its way to Peter on the street, that finds its way into the words of an elephant in a dream who calls again and again for small Adele, who said over and over, “It is the one you are calling Adele I am coming for to keep.”
It was Adele’s name that would bring the elephant, and the beggar, and Peter, and yes, Adele herself, together. That simple, small name, Adele, was given to her at the insistence of a dying mother with no time for namer’s remorse.
“The midwife said that your mother, before she died, had insisted that you be called Adele. I knew your name, and I spoke it to you.”
“And I smiled, ” said Adele.
“Yes, ” said Sister Marie. “And suddenly, it seemed there was light everywhere. The world was filled with light.”
Sister Marie’s words settled down over Adele like a warm and familiar blanket, and she closed her eyes. “Do you think, ” she said, “that elephant’s have names?” (p. 90)
As a matter of fact, we will learn, elephants do have names. The elephant we are interested in here—the elephant in the story, the magician’s elephant, the elephant summoned abruptly from her happy life on the savannah only to crash into the opera house and permanently maim an unsuspecting noblewoman—that elephant indeed had a name. But the elephant is the only figure in the story whose name we do not learn.
She should have been sleeping, but she was awake.
The elephant was saying her name to herself.
It was not a name that would make any sense to humans. It was an elephant name—a name that her brothers and sisters knew her by, a name that they spoke to her in laughter and in play. It was the name that her mother had given to her and that she had spoken to her often and with love.
Deep within herself, the elephant said this name, her name, over and over again.
She was working to remind herself of who she was. She was working to remember that, somewhere, in another place entirely, she was known and loved. (pp. 94-95)
The elephant had a name. And no one in this strange new world in which she found herself could know her name, being it was an elephant name, after all. Even so she found a way to keep telling herself her name, remind herself she was, somewhere, known and loved.
Until she didn’t.
In the home of the count and countess Quintet, inside the ballroom, as the people filed by her, touching her, pulling at her, leaning against her, spitting, laughing, weeping, praying, and singing, the elephant stood brokenhearted.
There were too many things she did not understand.
Where were her brothers and sisters? Her mother?
Where was the long grass and the bright sun? Where were the hot days and the dark pools of shade and the cool nights?
The world had become too cold and confusing and chaotic to bear.
She stopped reminding herself of her name.
She decided that she would like to die. (p. 119)
When she had lost everything, she forgot her own name. Or maybe it happened the other way around. When she forgot her name, she lost everything. Either way, the implication is clear: The elephant’s name, as perhaps does our own, connected her to her life.
It is the connection between a name and identity and between identity and life, that makes naming something worthy of delight (or, sadly, regret). Perhaps this stems from our belief in nominative determinism, the theory that our name will in some way influence who or what we become. Perhaps it is just, theories aside, a sense as strong as that of an elephant that our names will show us who we are.
We can wonder what it might mean, then, that DiCamillo chose not to utter the name of the magician until the final pages of the book—until he had set things right and settled into a home with a new career and someone who loved him, where he sought out the star which, much like the elephant’s name, kept him alive:
The magician showed his wife the star that he had gazed upon so often in prison, the star that, he felt, had kept him alive.
“It is that one, ” he said, pointing. “No, it is that one.”
“It makes no never mind which it was, Frederick, ” his wife said gently. “All of them are beautiful.” (p. 197-198)
It may be true, as she says, that all of them are beautiful.
_____________________
We’re reading The Magician’s Elephant together this month. Are you reading along? Perhaps you would share your observations about names and naming in the comments. How important is a name? What would you do with “namer’s regret?” What did you notice about DiCamillo’s use of names in the story?
During our book club, we’ll be exploring some of the overarching themes of the book together, rather than a chapter-by-chapter conversation, so you’ll want to read the whole book before we begin. (Don’t worry, it’s not a book you’ll want to set down once you start anyway.) Then, join us for thoughtful discussion here in the comments again on the next two Wednesdays September 14, and 21.
Read Kate DiCamillo’s Newbery Medal acceptance speech
Get another take on The Magician’s Elephant in What If Natural Selection is Wrong
Photo by Novar Imran, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by LW Lindquist, author of Adjustments.
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Glynn says
Naming is important. It’s no coincidence that the Nazis tattooed numbers on the inmates of their concentration camps and stopped using their names — it dehumanized them. Names gives us individuality and humanity. Our last names connect us to the generations we come from. And the act of conferring of names on our children is just as important.
In the book, I loved Peter’s name — Peter Augustus Duchene. Peter is the name of one of the 12 disciples and the one acknowledged by the Catholic Church as the first pope. Augustus was the first Roman emperor. His name suggests a bundling of contradictions and ideas.
Sandra Heska King says
Fred Findling, the Holocaust survivor, I mentioned in the piece I wrote about the Holocaust said his name “Siegfried,” which means “dragon slayer,” gave him courage. Thankfully, he avoided becoming just a number.
Will Willingham says
That’s fascinating, Sandra. Imagine, in the face of the particular atrocity of the Holocaust, seeing yourself as, of all things, a dragon.
Will Willingham says
Glynn, I loved the sound of Peter’s name as well, but hadn’t thought about that tension between Peter and Augustus. What a great observation.
And that’s kind of a thing DiCamillo does throughout, don’t you think? Creating this “bundling of contradictions and ideas”?
Megan Willome says
As to names having significance, when my daughter went off to school, she changed her name, exchanging the nickname everyone in our small town calls her for her middle name, which was my grandmother’s. It was a way to start over while remaining connected.
P.S. Finished the book Monday. Still pondering.
Will Willingham says
I was thinking as I wrote the piece, but it didn’t really fit anywhere, about the Native cultures that gave naming autonomy to children once they reached a certain age. This is such a powerful thing we can actually hand over to our children (if only the legal change process were not so onerous).
Sandra Heska King says
I found myself wondering how DiCamillo went about choosing names for the characters. I looked up the name “Adele” (“Adela”) and discovered it means “noble.” There was Adela, William the Conqueror’s (AKA William the Bastard) youngest daughter who was canonized. I also wondered what Sister Marie’s given name might have been. My Aunt Emma became Sister Mary Lucinda (light.) And I found it interesting that the Orphanage of the Sisters of Perpetual Light was such a dark place.
Names convey a sense of identity, where we belong and who we belong to–but also many times they convey who we can become. I wanted to cry for the elephant who forgot her name because she was not where she belonged–at least for a season. Maybe her elephant name conveyed something of her purpose–to bring the named together, to make the invisible visible.
We chose our names carefully for our children. In fact, I’ve shared before how our son came to us already pre-named by his foster family with the name we had chosen for him–a name nobody else new. It’s a perfect name. But for the first year after we adopted our him, we exchanged anonymous letters with his birthmother through the adoption agency. She called him by a totally different name.
Will Willingham says
I was struck by the dark orphanage and the light name as well. There are so many little things like that that DiCamillo places into the story, but doesn’t carry them much farther, leaving the reader to notice and come to their own conclusions, if any are to be had. I love that she does that here. rather than crafting a side story about the orphanage and the Sisters of Perpetual Light, she plants the seed and lets you decide what that means, if anything.
That moment for the elephant was one of the key moments in the book. Especially when you put that alongside the earlier part about the elephant’s name. What deep loss.
And that is so cool about your son’s name. 🙂
Michelle Ortega says
“Maybe her elephant name conveyed something of her purpose–to bring the named together, to make the invisible visible.”
I was thinking of this, too, Sandy, and perhaps a deeper spiritual meaning for the character of the elephant. She was the gathering force in the story, although quite passively; she was pulled from her home on the savannah and did not return until Peter found Adele and the magician tried again; she lost her name in the process but after the journey was complete, but possibly before she remembered her name, she returned. There is something about sacrifice here that I can’t quite hone in on.
Lane Arnold says
As Glynn and Sandra noted, names define.
Nicknames empower or degrade, don’t they?
When we can name something, such as knowing the diagnosis or becoming succinct in what that emotion we feel is, it is powerful.
I think, too, of how naming a poem or a story defines it, even more so when we name a child.
I love that the first act God assigned to Adam was naming. How affirming that must have been.
As the book drew to a close, over time it appears that the elephant didn’t remember, nor did the people. (p. 198-199) But on 200-201, connecting to one another brought about a connectedness. Would the elephant and the people have been more able to remember had they known the elephant’s name? By being only the magician’s elephant, she was not distinctly her own person, so to speak.
Will Willingham says
I thought similar things about the elephant being known as “the magician’s elephant” throughout, and how that would help define how she was seen. One almost could get the idea that she would not exist apart from him, though she had a complete and happy life before he brought her into this other place where she would be unknown. And, except for Peter, unseen. (I loved that part, where she occasionally sees his face and remembers being “seen.”)
Lane Arnold says
Another elephant book, one of my favorite ones in Children’s Literature, is Elmer. In it, there’s a scene where Elmer doesn’t look like himself, so all the other elephants can’t identify him and they just call him “elephant.” He isn’t really seen or noticed without his signature looks.
Generic names like elephant or hey, you or that ____ create an atmosphere of not being seen, don’t they? When we lump people or animals into categories, something is lost that a specific, unique name transforms to something more.
Donna Falcone says
“When we can name something, such as knowing the diagnosis or becoming succinct in what that emotion we feel is, it is powerful.”
and then ” connecting to one another brought about a connectedness.”
You know that leap in the heart when someone speaks our name, or recognizes us in a strange place, or finally we land on that word to describe something and there is a feeling of “YES! YES! YES! I know it too.”
… and so names connect us to others by virtue of some unseen, but powerfully felt, bridge – a way across to the other side. I am still waiting, almost ridiculously longing for, that day someone notices me there in the produce aisle at the grocery store and calls to me by my name. Then, I fantasize, I will feel like I have finally truly arrived to this new place we are living in more than 1000 miles from what I had called home for 16 years. I related a little bit to the elephant and her disorienting feeling of wondering where all of my people are? Where is my microphone at open mic? Where is my favorite mile to walk? Where are my sons? Where did everything go? Like the elephant, it was I who left – everything else is exactly where I left them. I am happy to report that after several weeks I finally found the post office, but where the HELL is the Deparment of Motor Vehicles?
Still…. that reunion with humanity in the produce aisle….? Tha’s the biggest thing to me right now.
Donna Falcone says
…so if you hear of some Yankee down in Georgia hanging out in Publix, muttering something over and over under her breath somewhere between the carrots and zucchini, that’s just me, reminding myself who I am.
Lane Arnold says
Wait. You moved to Georgia? Where? That’s my old neck of the woods.
Donna Falcone says
Tifton! 2.5 hrs beneath Atlanta on 75. Do you know it?
Lane Arnold says
Donna, I was born in Brunswick, GA. My grandparents were from Americus and Macon. I was raised mainly in Atlanta where I mainly raised my children. My parents met and married at St. Simons Island and eventually returned there when I was in college.
Did you have any flooding or wind damage from Hurricane Hermine?
What took you to Tifton?
Donna Falcone says
Ahhh so you know where I am! For some reason, that makes me really happy – even if you’ve never been to Tifton – at least you know of Tifton. We ventured to St. Simons and loved it, and plan to go again very soon.
We had no damage, but places just south and east of us had quite a bit. We were very lucky – our development didn’t even have any standing water, which is a hat tip to the people who graded all the lots. We were so lucky.
Joe was hired to head up the science deparment at Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College (ABAC). Heard of it? It’s growing like mad, which is astounding in this day and age.
Lane Arnold says
ABAC! Right off I-75. Sometimes we’d drive to the beach that way then cut over to 82 through Waycross…usually, we’d go I-16.
Well, I can tell you all about St. Simons…and yes, go back. Go to Jekyll and Big Cumberland and Savannah and Tybee and Dahlonega and Tallulah Falls. Go see the gators at the Okefenokee.
Oh, you’re in Georgia peach country. And near Vidalia’s famous onions. And the only true BBQ in the world is in GA!
I’m sure it is a shock to your system to move south…it’s a different universe. Names mean different things down there in Dixie!
Donna says
Yes, Glynn county! I remember now!
Donna Falcone says
Yes! We will visit all of those places! So far we have been to Lane Orchards, The Camelia Gardens (we plan to go back next month or so when they bloom), and we took a pontoon ride around the lakes and waterways of Reed Bingham State Park last week. I thought I’d be afraid knowing the aligators were all around and under us, but actually I was disappointed that I didn’t get to see one. We’ll go back when it’s cooler and they’ll be out.
Sandra Heska King says
You two are making me homesick. Not that it’s my native home. But I loved it there. We made it to all those places except Cumberland.
And bald peanuts are yummy.
Lane Arnold says
Speaking of names, Lane Orchards has a good one!
If you can, go soon to Plains, GA one Sunday when almost-92-year-old Jimmy Carter is teaching Sunday school. He’s a fantastic teacher…and afterwards, you get to shake his hand along with his lovely wife Rosalynn. My dad grew up in Americus, a neighboring town, and they were friends way back when.
Americus is also near Andersonville National Historic Site, a Civil War prison site and POW memorial.
And yes, as Sandra said, boiled peanuts are delish…as are cane syrup, Georgia shrimp, and anything with peaches!
Add Callaway Gardens to the list as well as the Little White House in Warm Springs, President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s personal retreat.
Ah, shucks…maybe Sandra and I will just have to come meet you and delve back into southern living!
And, Donna, if someone did say your name in Publix, you might not recognize the pronunciation as some folks, born and bred in Georgia, add about 7 extra syllables to every word. You are learning a new language living there.
Donna Falcone says
Sandra and Lane, I’ll leave the light on for you. 🙂 I thought of you, Lane, when we went to Lane Orchards… and I also saw a sign with the name Glynn on it that day, and I’m not sure where we were at the time but I thought how nice to have my Tweetspeak family there with me. And so you see, the power of a name? It goes deep into the heart and something happens – that light that the sister could see as plain as day – it can feel like that sometimes. LOL and you’re right about Publix, but I’d love to hear them try! 😉
Lane Arnold says
Glynn County, perhaps? That’s the county where St. Simons Island is, famous for its lovely marshes as told of in the poem of Sidney Lanier (http://www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/articles/arts-culture/sidney-lanier-1842-1881):
The Marshes of Glynn
As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod,
Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God:
I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies
In the freedom that fills all the space ’twixt the marsh and the skies:
By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod 75
I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God:
Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within
The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn.
http://www.bartleby.com/42/809.html
Sandra Heska King says
We went to church in Plains and Jimmy was teaching on the book of Daniel. And it was his birthday so they made a big deal in church. And we got photos with him and Rosalyn afterwards. Well, our son and I did. D took the picture and our daughter refused to be in it. She’s still kicking himself.
Donna Falcone says
For me, it’s not necessarily the name a person has, but what others do with that name, that matters the most. That a nick name can be used as a weapon or a sign of affection shows us the power of name.
Lane, what you say about naming a “thing” is really interesting and I think so too. It matters when we can name something – it somehow makes the groundless seem less groundless.
Lane Arnold says
Donna, I like your phrase: “makes the groundless seem less groundless.” Though mystery is good and necessary and a part of life, there is something about naming, about things being less groundless, that helps me live with ambiguity and mystery.
Will Willingham says
What others do with that name…
That’s a full conversation right there. The name can be powerful enough by itself, and yet others can use it in even more powerful ways, whether for good or bad. 🙂
Lane Arnold says
My husband’s given name is Robert…but he was always a Bobby to his family and to his grade school and high school friends. When he attended a military academy for college, everyone was usually called by their surname. With his sports friends, post-college, he was Bob. In his professional world, he is Robert. I can often tell when someone first knew my husband by what they call him.
Same is true for me…I was Little Lane as my aunt was Big Lane. If someone speaks to me as Little Lane, or my aunt as Big Lane, I can quickly identify the era in which I knew them, even if I can’t quickly identify who the heck they are!
Being a Robert is different than being a Bobby…being a Little Lane is different than being a Lane. Without people even knowing it, their use of my name, or my husband’s, can transport us to another era.
Recently I saw one of my daughter’s high school friends whom I used to teach and who only knew me pre-divorce. She wasn’t sure what to call me.
There is certainly power in what others call us and do with our names!
Donna Falcone says
That is so true about how a name someone uses can indicate a stage of life when they first met…. I have pretty much always been Donna, by my husband also had a “juniorized name” as a child. If anyone says Joey we know it must be a cousin, aunt, or uncle. If anyone says Dr. Joe, we know it was a student from Pennsylvania.
Sandra Heska King says
Dennis has always been Dennis, though some have called him Denny. And you know what bums me out a little, I’ve always been Sandy to him–never any term of endearment has left his lips. 🙂
Katie says
Can so relate to what you shared here about your husband’s name(s) and your name(s).
My hubby was called Jimmy by his family and peers growing up. Then Jim in college (military academy, also) and after.
His given name is actually James and that appears on all his mail, legal documents, etc.
In fact when we attend conferences he usually forgets to ask when he registers for them to change it to Jim for his name tag.
My name is Katie – not shortened from anything – just Katie.
What amazes me is the number of people (neighbors, acquaintances, . . .) who will shorten my name to Kate!
I usually correct folks on both Jim rather than James and Katie instead of Kate.
Just feels wrong somehow or other to be called something other than what you go by.
Will Willingham says
I try, as a rule, to call people what they call themselves, knowing that in some company they may call themselves something different. One name in general, and a more intimate name amongst close friends and family. I don’t shift to that name unless the person invites me to, in using that name for themselves. But it seems there are always those among us who want to choose that name for us. I’m glad you feel comfortable to make that correction. 🙂
Katie says
Think that’s a good policy, LW.
Just remembered how I used to insist my children not “play” with someone’s name/mess it up/make fun of it, because names are very personal and meaningful and not to be toyed with. I hope I drove home to them the point that we should respect each person’s wish to be called what they want to be called and that it is rude to do otherwise.
This discussion has caused me to realize just how significant a part of one’s identity their name is.
Appreciate everyone’s input:)
L.L. Barkat says
I hadn’t noticed that Frederick lacked a name before he loved/was loved. DiCamillo is so deft.
Also, it feels very important to me that the elephant lost track of her name when she became disconnected from love (by being turned into a spectacle).
So that, as it turns out, the issue of spectacle is large here. The magician had no name when he was focused on producing spectacle. The elephant lost hers when she became a spectacle. There is a caution, for the creative person… when you reach to be “big name” and focus on spectacle to the exclusion of intimate connection, you can somehow be erased or erase others. Something to think on, for writers, authors, and artists of many kinds.
Lane says
LL, I appreciate your insights on spectacle. Thinking of spectacles, as in eyeglasses, how we see, what our perspective is, creates differing focal points, doesn’t it?
Donna Falcone says
“So that, as it turns out, the issue of spectacle is large here… large,: like an elephant, you mean. 😉 Sorry I couldn’t resist.
I love the observation and connections you make here, about name and loss of connection. Especially as it relates to writers and artists. My first thought, as I read, was also about baseball, oddly enough (I am missing my boys – my men – my boys) – because we always knew when the Little Leaguer at the plate was aiming for the fences rather than focusing on where the ball WAS (as opposed to where it could be in the future). As it turns out, there are more misses than hits in those cases, or little pop flies that are easily caught in the field. I see this all the time when I am working on a piece of art. If I focus on where the piece and materials and my inclinations are NOW, something pretty cool usually happens. If I try for a “spectacle” of a kind – a woswer – a head turner – it never, and I do mean NEVER, works. It is kind of like baseball. It’s about keeping my eye on the ball where it IS not where it is going to be.
Erasing. I want to think on this some more because it’s hitting a nerve.
L.L. Barkat says
Ha 🙂 Yes, large as the elephant.
Now I am thinking of the irony of the saying “making a name for yourself,” as related to both the magician in the story and the writer, author, artist, etc. in life.
Will Willingham says
Oh, I had not made that connection, to spectacle. But it’s true. When the focus was spectacle (whether desired or not), the name was gone.
DiCamillo is something else. 🙂
Diana Trautwein says
Wow. What a rich conversation! Thank you all. I have just begun the book and love it, frequently laughing out loud with the rich and wonderful use of words. And speaking of words, all of your intriguing words about the power of naming has reminded me that walking with a much-loved mother through dementia is an exercise in learning to live without a name, for both parties. My mom no longer knows my name and often asks what her own name is. When I tell her my name, she smiles big and tells me she loves that one! When I tell her her own name, she gets a sweet and wistful look on her face and says, “Oh, yes. That’s right.”
For a split second, she is found.
Donna Falcone says
Diana, it’s great to see you here and read your powerful words. You are reminding me of when I was a child and my grandmother didn’t know who I was. It was a severing feeling – to not be known. I can’t remember any examples, it was so long ago, but I remember the feeling. I wish I could put my arms around you just because one can never have too many arms around them. The way you write about your mom is very moving. Thank you for sharing… I wonder what LW has in store for us tomorrow!? 😉
Diana Trautwein says
Thank you, Donna. After all these years, I still have not figured out how to master this website. I subscribe to the newsletter on Saturdays, and generally come back to read the articles that have occurred earlier in the week. There does not seem to be a way to subscribe to the daily feed, at least that I can figure out. So I will be late to these conversations, but I have loved the book very much.
Donna Falcone says
It sounds like you have a good system though! The newsletter is so handy for finding things. I like the way the home page is formatted now – it’s easier to find exactly what you’re looking for, even if you don’t know what it looks like. I can scroll down the page on Wedsnesday and find LWs post much easier than before!
Will Willingham says
So great that she loves the name when she hears it. There is something that runs so deep with names.
Glad you were able to stop by, and that you’re enjoying the read. 🙂