I have not read any of the Harry Potter books, and though I saw the first film in a theater and the second film on a long Emirates flight, I haven’t been keeping up with the movie versions either. I’ve got no objection to the Potter books on artistic or theological grounds, and mine is not an aversion rooted in snobbery. It’s just that I can always think of something else I’d rather read.
That said, I’ve heard from several people this weekend who excitedly report that in the epilogue to the final story, two central characters end up married with children — and they name their son “Hugo.” One young man I work with came running up to me on Saturday to inquire what my name “really means”, convinced that there was some deep symbolism embodied in Rowling’s choice. My name, depending on which source text you use, means “bright” or (I like this better) “bright mind.” This revelation seemed deeply satisfying to the sixteen year-old who was querying me, and he went off quite pleased.
I was named for my father’s side of the family. “Hugo” was my father’s father’s father. He came from a family of Moravian Jews who had thoroughly assimilated, and thus he and his brothers all had these very Germanic names (Berthold and Ludwig were other choices). “Benedict”, my middle name, comes from the first name of another great-great-grandfather. (My brother, Philip Arthur, was named for my mother’s side of the family).
I grew up hating my name. The teasing started early; some of my readers will be old enough to remember the character “Hugo, Man of a Thousand Faces” (a seemingly innocuous title that became a painful burden). One group of insipid children in third grade came up with the inspired “Hugo’s a go-go” (not that they really knew what go-go dancing entailed), and that monicker lasted throughout elementary school. I can remember wishing, at age ten or so, that I had been named “Mike”. That was by far the most popular boys’ name in my school, and it seemed just the sort of name that would act as a magical coat of protection against all sorts of insults. Once, while on the school bus, I tried to tell a new boy that my name was Mike, just to “try out” the new title; I was overheard and my deceit was greeted with cheerful howls of derision.
I began to appreciate my name in high school, largely because in my adolescence I began to value the very things I had been so ashamed of in my childhood. Where at nine or ten I had longed to fit in with all the other boys, at fifteen and sixteen I delghted in my uniqueness. I didn’t meet another Hugo until I was a seventeen year-old high school senior; I encoutered him at the California state Model UN convention. He was Hispanic, and when he introduced himself, asked “How did a white guy end up with a name like Hugo?” I was about to ask him a similar question; we had each assumed that Hugo belonged to a specific language group and were a bit thrown to discover that there are versions of Hugo in most Western European tongues.
I’ve met Dutch Hugos, Swedish Hugos, English Hugos and — by now — a great number of Hugos from Spanish-speaking families. Venezuala’s Chavez, with his infamy, has given the name a sinister touch (or, in the eyes of the fringe global left, a certain Fidelisque cachet). What I haven’t met yet is an American-born Hugo who doesn’t come out of a Hispanic background. I’ve corresponded with one or two, but haven’t yet met in person.
There is pleasure in an unusual name, though it is a pleasure I had to learn to love. I like knowing today that if I hear someone yell “Hugo” in a crowd, it is almost invariably for me. Yelling “Juan” or “Michael” (or, these days, “Hunter” or “Dylan”) often leads only to confusion. I like that I am easy to google, unlike my good friend Jennifer Brown or my dear colleague Steve Richards. The names that my wife and I have tentatively discussed for our future children, should the Lord bless us in that regard, will be kept secret until after the small ones arrive. But I can say that most of our options are indeed unusual. I fully expect my future son or daughter to go through a stage where they wish they had been named “Emily” or “Daniel” instead of the far more unusual name they’ve been given.
I like to scan the popular baby names provided by the Social Security Administration. My operating rule is that no child ought to be given a name from the top 50. Obviously, names go in and out of fashion; the current trend for boys’ names seems to be to mine the Old Testament, and for girls it seems trendy to turn to the likes of Jane Austen for inspiration. I didn’t know any “Avas” or “Jacobs” in my youth, and it seems that names like Lisa or Troy (which were hugely popular among those of us born in the mid-to-late ’60s) have all but vanished. But while one cannot predict long-term trends, one can predict what will be popular on elementary school rosters a few years from now. And it seems wise and good and right to pick with an eye towards the unusual, the ancient, the meaning-filled. Even if such a choice will lead a child to curse her parents when she is nine, she will surely rejoice in what is nearly uniquely hers when she is older.
I am a very happy Hugo Benedict.
On the subject of thoroughly assimilated Jews with Germanic names–my Jewish great-grandfather, born in the Empire, was Frederick Siegfried [my very German last name].
I have a pretty common first name, which is why I am somewhat reluctant to give up my unusual last name (at least, it’s unusual for those who live in SoCal). I want to give my future kids unique names, but also ones that are easy to spell and pronounce. I can’t speak from personal experience, but I think it would be more annoying to have your first name mispronounced and misspelled all your life than having it be merely unusual. One of my boyfriend’s cousins is named Sheehan. He is the only Sheehan I have ever met, and he was one-of-a-kind all throughout our K-12 years (we are the same age and went to the same schools). His mom told me that he too hated his name when he was in elementary school, but grew to love it because he was the only one he knew who had it. His name is easy to pronounce and also very unique. (Though, you know J’s last name, and Sheehan was rather uncomfortable that Casey Sheehan was so big in the news…) Lucky for you, Hugo is not only different but easy to spell and pronounce. It’s the best of both worlds.
Sam, I like that. The lengths to which our ancestors went to leave behind the shtetls is amazing. My father, ethnically 3 quarters Jewish, was raised an uncircumcised altar boy, educated by Jesuits. His family explained to him that they had had to flee Nazi Austria for “political reasons”, never letting on that it was their Jewishness and not their political commitments that would have proved fatal had they stayed.
Mermade, I agree that having a pronunceable first name makes things easier. On the other hand, my Austrian and German relatives call me “Hoo-go”, my wife’s Colombian family calls me “Ooo-go” and a surprising number of people look at the name and just call me Hugh.
I had ‘Hugo, Man Of A Thousand Faces’. It was a puppet that was bald with no eyebrows that came with a variety of wigs, glasses, moustaches, etc. from which you could create ‘a thousand faces’ for him. Kind of a human Mr. Potato Head. He was most sinister looking when he was completely unadorned. Just right for tormenting a sibling with.
At least no one called you Mr. Potato Head.
At least no one called you Mr. Potato Head.
There is that.
My name also means “bright” although it’s in the “bright light” regard (Helen), and I too have a brother named Philip :) My parents are both Brits - if they’d been born in our part of the world then they’d have likely spelt Philip with two “L”s. I love names, they’re fascinating; thanks for sharing about yours.
I think you ought to try the books, Hugo. I think you’d find a lot in them. And yes, I admit, when I read about the child named Hugo, I thought of you.
Noooooooo. Harry Potter spoilers. =( Anyway, good post; I think a lot of your readers can relate. I never liked being the Pink Power Ranger. But I’ll keep your entry in mind for the near-future.
Don’t believe Hugo or me?
http://www.secretfunspot.com/virtual.htm
firstly note, you should post a spoiler warning in the title-there are many harry potter fans out there. may we come in many shapes and sizes and colors-we are united in the love of a boy with a kickass scar (and a blogger who loves fuzzy rats).
second, having a not-too-popular name is also kickass, for the same reasons you mention. i’ve only meet two others with mine, and they’re at least 40 years old. plus, everybody remembers your name-i always have trouble with the katies, michaels, chris’, jessicas…but there’s usually only one josephine! sure it’s rough in the beginning, but it pays off when you’re older and rarer names are hip.
Good post, but — and I understand this is an honest mistake because you haven’t read the books — this is a spoiler and it should have been placed behind a cut.
“Hugo” hits a good middle ground — it’s unusual enough that you won’t end up in a room with 4 other Hugos, but it’s common enough that people recognize it as a name. I’m quite attached to “Stentor,” but it does get annoying explaining to every new person I meet that I’m not “Spencer” or “Stanford” or “Stanley.” Yesterday I was calling an automated line to try to remove myself from a junk mail list, and the computer wouldn’t let me do it because it didn’t recognize “Stentor” as a name.
I just assumed, folks, that every Potter fan was done reading and that this did not constitute a spoiler. Sorry — all the folks I know who cared about Potter had finished the book by Saturday afternoon!
My husband has a very uncommon name by American standards, although his last name is common enough in Sri Lanka (he was born there, but his first name was completely made up by his mother; as far as we know it is unique). I was the only person with my name growing up in my small hometown, but it isn’t terribly unusual. Our kids both have family names, given for sentimental reasons, but their first names have turned out to be fairly popular for kids their age. There’s always been at least one other of each in their pre-school/daycare classes every year. Their middle names are Randal (for my dad) and Devan (husband’s uncle–pronounced Theevan with a hard th), neither of which are terribly common around here. Although Devan (pronounced Devon) seems to be common among the African American teenagers where I work.
I’m sure as hell glad I finished Deathly Hallows before reading this. When no one was even sure that any of the major characters would survive, to say two lots of them married and had kids is a major spoiler.
I haven’t read the books yet (I will, but I also don’t care about spoilers), but since Rowling said consistently that two major characters would get killed off, odds are pretty good of at least one couple of childbearing age surviving. It’s a very minor spoiler, if at all. Lots less than most of the book reviews I’ve seen and heard, frankly.
My only quibble about the names is that “unique” can go way too far. Creativity is not necessarily a benefit when one has to go through life with a name. I’d say avoiding the top fifty is a bit extreme: stay out of the top twenty and you’re largely out of fad and crowd territory.
But there are reasons to pick a name like that, sometimes: family traditions, mostly.