What's In A Name?
Juliet speaks in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II, of the fragrance of names. The Capulet mourns for the tragedy that is her love's name - Montague - for how can she take on the name of her family's most detested enemy? In what possible moment of their world can she take on the stench of such a foul name, joining the rank and polluting her own sweet aroma? Star-crossed lovers - oh, that is truly what those soft-tongued and wily eyes were in the comfort of Venice! Marriage betwixt the two shall result in the collapse of the Capulet crest - carried so broadly on the girl's slim shoulders - and, then, what legitimacy will their legacy proclaim? It would be a shame to cave before such lustful desires and heart's temptations, to cave despite the long-time feuds between generations of Capulets and Montagues!
It seems that Shakespeare is suggesting a revelation on the importance of a name, of the heritage and prestige built through years of forging connections and capitalizing honor. Here, through the mouth of the young female lover, the English playwright declares the name as the ultimate symbol of not only ancestry but of legacy.
What does this mean when, in his play, the dishonor of one act comes to the very erasure of a name: Juliet Capulet?
Well, no offense to Juliet or Shakespeare (Praise to Our Sovereign Poet), but I am calling bullshit.
My name is Lauren. My nickname has been various things over the years. My great uncle calls me Princess, echoing this endearment with his brother (my grandpa). My mom called me Peanut when I was younger. My friends would giggle and call me Mother Goose. My principal in elementary called me Little Red Riding Hood as I walked beside my golden-haired best friend, who he called Goldilocks. But the one name which holds my truest identity is the one my granny coined from my grandfather's doctor: Gimpy.
It doesn't have an exciting etymology, forged from centuries of the family legacy. It means, in short, Grandpa Limp.
It seems that Shakespeare is suggesting a revelation on the importance of a name, of the heritage and prestige built through years of forging connections and capitalizing honor. Here, through the mouth of the young female lover, the English playwright declares the name as the ultimate symbol of not only ancestry but of legacy.
What does this mean when, in his play, the dishonor of one act comes to the very erasure of a name: Juliet Capulet?
Well, no offense to Juliet or Shakespeare (Praise to Our Sovereign Poet), but I am calling bullshit.
My name is Lauren. My nickname has been various things over the years. My great uncle calls me Princess, echoing this endearment with his brother (my grandpa). My mom called me Peanut when I was younger. My friends would giggle and call me Mother Goose. My principal in elementary called me Little Red Riding Hood as I walked beside my golden-haired best friend, who he called Goldilocks. But the one name which holds my truest identity is the one my granny coined from my grandfather's doctor: Gimpy.
It doesn't have an exciting etymology, forged from centuries of the family legacy. It means, in short, Grandpa Limp.
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