Looking for a distinctive nature name?  Parents are bypassing boho chic choices like River and Sky for a fresh category: foreign word names with nature meanings.

Thanks to Photoquilty for suggesting a Name of the Day from this intriguing category: Brisa.

If you honeymooned in Cancun, you might’ve downed a margarita in a bar called Brisa.  Elsewhere in Mexico, you could’ve stayed at Las Brisas resorts.  Restaurants wearing the name can be found in California and Texas.  Even an observatory in Colorado bears the name.  It’s the kind of word that many of us can translate, even if our Spanish language skills are otherwise limited to the menu board at a Taco Bell.

Before we go any farther, there’s the inescapable fact that product manufacturers have latched onto Brisa, too.  There’s a Kia Brisa, a Portuguese soft drink and a Turkish tire distributor.

None of this has stopped parents in the US from embracing Brisa.  She debuted in the US Top 1000 back in 2000 at #481 – quite the high debut – and while she’s fallen quite a bit, still stood at #787 last year.  You may also see the spelling Brise.  They share a pronunication – BREE sa – but the “e” ending is far less common.

Besides the nature name link, there are a few other possible origins for Brisa:

• Homer mentioned Briseis, a widow taken a the spoils of war by the Greeks, in his Iliad.  Pronounced BRISS ee iss, she’s not exactly a household name, but the character did apepar in the 2004 movie Troy;
• French poet Benoît de Sainte-Maure penned his epic Le Roman de Troie in the twelfth century.  He borrowed Homer’s name for Briseida, the love interest of Troilus.  Over the years, the name morphed into Cressida, the version used by Shakespeare and, eventually Toyota;
• In French, brise means broken – as in the architectural term brise-soleil, to refer to any technique that limits sun exposure;
• Brise and Brisa are also sometimes heard as surnames, from corners of the globe as differnet as Puerto Rico and Hungary.  It’s possible that some could relate to Saint Brice, an early fifth century Bishop of Tours, also recorded as Brixius and Bricius.

Overall, Brisa emerges as an interesting option.  As we discussed with the Welsh Briallen, she fits in nicely with the Bree name trend, fueled by everything from the popularity of the literary Briana to Marcia Cross’s Desperate Housewives character.  And yet, her status as a foreign import and her mythological and medieval ties give her quite an appealing story.

He’s handsome, continental and far fresher than Gregory.  But can he overcome his Kafkaesque cockroach vibe?

Thanks to Photoquilty for suggesting Gregor as Name of the Day.

Circa 2009, Greg is more likely to be the father – or even the grandfather – than the newborn baby boy.  Ranked in the Top 100 from 1945 through 1996, Gregory peaked at #21 in the early 60s.  He was still going strong when The Brady Bunch debuted in 1969.  Short forms Greg and Gregg fared well as independent names, too; even Greggory charted in the 60s.

Today, Gregory is no longer fashionable, but he remains an evergreen classic.   More than 1,500 boys born in the US were given the name last year.

Gregor seems like a promising variant.  His -or ending puts him in a league with popular boys’ names like Connor and Tyler, as well as stylish up-and-comers like Archer and Miller.  Gregor has never charted in the US Top 1000, but he’s perfectly common in parts of Europe, from Scotland to Slovenia.

Just like Gregory, Gregor derives from the Greek Gregorios, which traces back to the verb egeirein – to awaken.  Add in the unrelated but similar-sounding grex – flock or herd – and the name conjures up a watchful shepherd.  Plenty of Saints Gregory, as well as more than a dozen popes, have kept the name in steady use over the centuries, though he wasn’t heard in English until after the Norman Conquest in 1066.

Scientist and priest Gregor Mendel is among the best known bearers of the name.  His nineteenth century experiments with pea plants became the basis of modern genetics in the twentieth century.

But then there’s Franz Kafka’s unforgettable literary character.  The first line, as it appeared in German in the 1915 edition, is as follows:

Als Gregor Samsa eines Morgens aus unruhigen Träumen erwachte, fand er sich in seinem Bett zu einem ungeheueren Ungeziefer verwandelt.

If you’ve read The Metamorphosis in lit class, you’ve probably discussed the translation of “Ungeziefer” as “insect” or “cockroach.”  Kafka never made that link, and the German term “Ungeziefer” is far less specific.  Instead, the story is one of isolation.  Still, the name Gregor might give you the creepy-crawlies.

Kafka may have borrowed the character’s name from a 1900 novel by Jakob Wasserman – The Story of Young Renate Fuchs.  I’m not quite clear on the story’s plot or the reason Kafka would’ve borrowed the name.  (Anyone read German?  I’m in over my head.)  Then there’s the Gregor from 1870’s Venus in Furs, the best known of Leopold von Sacher-Masoch’s novels.  But if you thought a cockroach was an uninspiring image for a child’s name, Sacher-Masoch offers no improvements.  His surname is the basis for the word masochism.

So while Gregor’s literary pedigree is undeniable, you might want to completely forget all references should you choose the name for a son.

That leaves parents with a current sound and an appealing meaning.  That might be enough for Gregor to catch on.  But odds are he’ll remain an underused gem – more accessible that the Russian Grigori, comfortable on the playground with Hunter and Cooper and yet far from common.

They say that once you choose your child’s name, be it Kaydon or Atticus, Balthasar or Brady, your child becomes that name.  They say that there’s no such thing as Namer’s Remorse.

I’m not so sure.

Sometime around 1976, I trotted off to nursery school and discovered I was one of many girls named Amy.   And thus was born a life long obsession with names.

My mother’s one and only baby name book – the guide she thumbed through while naming all four of her children – eventually fell apart beneath my grubby mitts.

“Why,” I’d query my long-suffering mother, “didn’t you call me Chantal?”

“Really,” my  mother would reply.  “Would you really want to be Chantal?”

I would think about it, scan the page again and ask, “How ’bout Chandra?”

At this point she would ship me outside to play.  Sometimes I took the book along and rechristened my dolls things like Faustine.

Years later, I found myself having similar conversations with my husband-to-be.  “No.  We can’t name our kid Caradoc.”

“Maybe Julius?”

“Do we have to talk about this now?  Why not wait until you’re actually pregnant?”

I kept raising the subject, and eventually we reached The Great Naming Compromise of 2001.  We would name our firstborn son after his father (Alexander) and our firstborn daughter after my mother (Clarina).

But it wasn’t quite that easy, not even after the ultrasound tech declared it was a boy.

“What will we call him?” I asked.

“Alex,” my husband replied.

I mulled it over.  Name aficionado that I’ve always been, I knew two things: first, Alexander was already a Very Popular choice.  (It ranked #15 in 2004, the year our son was born.  By last year, Alexander reached #6.  And that’s not counting the just-Alexes, the girl-Alexes, or the creatively-spelled-Alexxes and Alyxes.)  My husband veto’d Alasdair.  (”We’re not Scottish.”)  He didn’t even want to consider Evander or Iskander, though I argued that they were quite close.

My fail safe was this: the list of nicknames for Alexander took up a paragraph, even in that old, much-thumbed through baby name book from my youth.

Factor in my husband’s roots – his parents came from Poland not long before he was born – and I figured I could push an unconventional nickname.  “Is Alexei the Polish nickname for Alexander?”  I asked, innocently.

“I’ll ask my mom,” he replied, but never did.  I looked it up, and found Aleksey listed as the Polish nickname.

Done, I thought triumphantly.  All over but the spelling.  Alexy, maybe?  Would that be a good compromise?  I thrilled every time an ESPN reporter mentioned a hockey player named Alexei.  My husband is a Huge Hockey Fan.  Surely, that would sway him.

Our son arrived and two things happened:  first, it turns out that you don’t have a second to think about your child’s nickname.  Everyone wants to know, pretty much immediately.  And if you don’t tell them, they just assume that the most common nickname is the one you’re using.

Second, much to my surprise, my in-laws called their firstborn grandchild Oluš – oh LOOSH.  In some parts of Poland, Aleksander might be Aleksey.  But in their region?  Nope.  Loosh was cute, but I couldn’t introduce my kid as Loosh.  As for Sasha, another possible diminutive, it was veto’d as “too Russian.”

Friends also chose Alexander around the same time, with the intention of calling their kiddo Xander.

But somehow we each ended up with an Alex.

I didn’t fuss about it at first.  Because Alexander/Alexei/Aleksey/Alexy/Alex had another name in mind: Aly – the name he’s used for himself since he could first talk.

Over the past not-quite-five years, Aly has stuck.  He’s aggressively boyish with wild curling hair.  The name he chose for himself is simply the right name.  And I respect that.

But I recently had to register Aly/Alex/Alexei for summer camp.  At a loss about what name to put on the form, I asked my son, confident that Alexei would win.  He’d insisted Alexei appear on his hockey jersey.  He tells me that he’s Alexei.

This time?

Alex, he said.

My heart broke.

I fetched from camp a few days ago, and when the head counselor called Alex, more than one little head swiveled.  My son popped up, along with another little boy.

“We’re both Alex,” said the other boy.

Then they hugged.

“Yeah,” Aly added.  “I’m Alex Sandel.  Then there’s Alex Smith, and Alex Jones, and this is Alex Jackson.  Plus there’s Alex Hunter, but he’s BIG!”

As we left camp, I queried my son.  “There are lots of Alexes,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you sure you want to be Alex?  You can be Alexei.  You could be Aly.  Or we could choose another name.”

He looked at me like I had three heads.  “No.  I’m Alex.”

And so we’ve come full circle.  My mother hated her unusual name, I hated my super-common name and my kid?  He’s perfectly happy to be one in a crowd.

Alex still doesn’t come out of my mouth – to be honest, I don’t think it fits him as well as Alexei.  And Dad calls him Aly.  (Which could read feminine in some circles, but in Washington DC, reads more like the Arabic Ali – in fact, our Muslim neighbors did a double-take when they met him.)

I’ve read before that kids like having common names, but I’ve never believed it – it was so very opposite my experience.  But my husband – who grew up Arthur in a sea of Jasons and Michaels – tends to agree with my mother, a Clarina amongst Marys and Janets.

Aly’s name remains fluid.  We ordered his new lunchbox with “Alex” stitched on.  But he continues to answer to Aly and Alexei.  Who knows?  Maybe it will always be that way.  I can live with it, for now.

But when Clio comes home and wants to know why I didn’t name her Madison?

That’s gonna be a bad day.

There’s Violet and Iris, Lily and Rose.  So why not this botanical pick?

Thanks to Sophie for suggesting Dahlia as Name of the Day.

At first glance, Dahlia seems like a straightforward floral appellation.  The perennial got her name courtesy of Swedish botanist Anders Dahl.  Dahl didn’t name the bloom himself – instead, the director of a Madrid garden christened them in the 1800s, shortly after Dahl’s death.

Anders tripped over his future namesake in Mexico.  Three dozen species flourish throughout Central America; oodles of hybrids have been cultivated.  The Aztecs grew them back in the day.

As a name, Dahlia has something of a Victoriana vibe.  In the early 20th century, British author P.G. Wodehouse bestowed the name on a character in his Jeeves and Wooster series.  Dahlia Travers is Bertie Wooster’s “good aunt,” though she still manages to get him into all sorts of scrapes, often involving a sterling silver cow creamer.  (You’ll have to read the series to understand – and to appreciate Jeeves’ ability to unravel a sticky situation.)

While dahlias come in many shades, there’s no such thing as blue – even today, the color does not appear in the official classification charts of The American Dahlia Society.  And so the phrase “blue dahlia” means something impossible.  In 1946, Raymond Chandler penned The Blue Dahlia, a film starring Veronica Lake and Alan Ladd.  Lake plays a character called Joyce – the Blue Dahlia is a nightclub.

There’s also an Arabic and Hebrew name that’s just one letter different: Dalia.  She’s still botanical, but in this case, Dalia is related to the word for a grapevine or olive branch.

One more Dalia of note: in Lithuanian mythology, Dalia is a goddess, associated with weaving and, naturally, fate.

Regardless of source, the common English pronunciation is DAHL yah.  But drop the “h” and a few sources will suggest the three-syllable da LEE ah.

All of this makes for a sweet little floral moniker, with a nicely pan-global vibe and a sort of British gentility all at once.

But then there’s the Black Dahlia.  And all of a sudden, this simple flower leans Goth.

While she wasn’t known by the name in life, the ill-fated Elizabeth Short is remembered to history as the Black Dahlia, the victim of a gruesome, unsolved murder from 1947 Los Angeles.  The nickname was apparently a play on the Raymond Chandler movie title.  While it is tempting to dismiss the reference as old news, the most recent film version of the story was just 2006.

Dahlia would be right at home with our gardens of girls.  She’s a bit fussier than Lily and frillier than Violet.  The nickname Dolly makes her wearable for even a small child.  (Though the spelling is a stretch.)  And while she appears in the US Top 1000, she’d only reached as high as #745 in 2008.  Variant Dalia stood at #920.  So while she could climb, for the moment, she’s still underused.

Dahlia is pretty, polished. sophisticated and surprisingly dark.  It’s an interesting option for a daughter.

Freakonomics co-authors Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner deemed this choice a likely Top Name of 2015 – but so far, the name remains decidedly underused.

Thanks to Wrenn for suggesting Flannery as Name of the Day.

Flannery has much to recommend it.  It’s another Irish surname, à la the white hot Riley and emerging choices like Finnegan and Finley.  Like Harper, Flannery has serious literary cred, too.  Factor in Flannery’s possible appeal for boys or girls, and it is easy to see why the Freaknomics authors placed their bets for Flannery to win, place or show.

And yet, Flannery has never ranked in the US Top 1000 for either gender.  Expert analysis aside, I rather expect Flannery will remain something of an underused gem right through 2015 and beyond.  More on that in a minute …

Just like many an Irish surname, Flannery is an Anglicized version of a Gaelic choice. Flannery comes from Ó Flannabhra, Ó Flannghaile or possibly both.  Flann means red, and fits in with plenty of other descriptive surnames.  The rest of the name is subject to debate.  If Flannery comes from the first candidate, it means “red eyebrows;” from the second, “red valor.”

Speaking of red, Flann Sinna was a ninth century High King of Ireland.  Some might imgaine Flann as an alternative to up-and-comer Finn, but he’s probably too close to the custard for serious consideration.  This also robs the three-syllable Flannery of a possible nickname.  While Finnegan and Finley shorten to Finn, Flannery would have to be used in the full, three-syllable version or risk sound like a dessert menu instead of a kid.

Perhaps that’s why Flannery was suggested as a contender for a girl’s name.  From Dorothy to Kimberly to Emily, plenty of three-syllable, ends-in-y choices for daughters have been popular over the years.  Similiar surname-inspired picks doing well for girls circa 2009 include Delaney and Emery.  Flannery fits the trend perfectly.

She’d also be a logical sister to the literary Harper.  Just like To Kill A Mockingbird’s Harper Lee was born Nelle Harper Lee, Flannery O’Connor’s given name was Mary.  O’Connor penned two novels, but is best known for her Southern Gothic short stories.

Plenty of people wear it as a surname – The Office’s Kate Flannery, The Bold and the Beautiful’s Susan Flannery, a handful of athletes and academics, too.

There’s also a Pokémon character named Flannery – she’s a she, and she trains flame-type pocket monsters in manga and anime, hence the choice of her name.

If you were looking to name a son, one possible twist on Flannery is Flannan – the Flann element plus the -an diminutive so well known from Aidan, Ronan and plenty of other Irish appellations.  Flynn is also related – though he’s awfully close to Finn.

You can find plenty of famous people wearing Flannery as a surname.  Soap opera veteran Susan Flannery comes to mind, as does The Office’s Kate Flannery.  A handful of athletes and academics, politicians and musicians share the name, too.

Overall, Flannery could work if you’re disappointed to learn that Delaney is actually a fairly common choice, Flannery emerges as an alternative.  Because while I think the Freakonomics duo are quite clever, I’m not sure they’re quite in tune with baby naming.

For those of you in the US, I hope you had a firecracker of a holiday!

The big starbaby news of the week was the reveal of Tobey Maguire’s son’s name: Otis Tobias, little brother to Ruby Sweetheart.

Other celeb news:

• Cobie Smulders of How I Met Your Mother welcomed a daughter, Shaelyn Cado;
• Baywatch/Playboy alum Gena Lee Nolin posed in a bikini for PEOPLE magazine with baby Stella Monroe. Stella is the new Ava – everyone in Hollywood has one;
• Kelli O’Hara, of Broadway fame, welcomed a son named Owen James;
• Country music’s Josh Turner welcomed a son named Colby Lynch.

Elsewhere in the blogosphere:

• Looking for an Independence Day appellation?  Check out Xanthe Linnea’s Patriotic Names post; Legit Baby Name’s post on Eleftheria and her post on Liberty; and my post on Liberty from 2008; 
• Onomastitrix mentioned that Bruce seems to be rising down under.  Could it be a Batman-influenced revival?  Or, as she suggests, a simple fact of the many grandfathers named Bruce inspiring a next generation?  Hmmm … ;
• Inspired by the rise of Keaton – a “unique” name that was actually percolating in our collective cultural well for years and now stands at #371 - Swistle has been discussing possible names from the same mold: two candidates she’s mentioned recently are Brando and Schroder;
• For pure, LOL joy, check out Teresa Strasser’s rundown of her Top Five baby names.  That’s Nameberry’s Pamela Redmond Satran in the name expert role, giving Shane the big thumbs down;  
• Nymbler posted the Top Ten June search names.  No surprises there, but I always enjoy the Top Five Brand New Names.  Last month, it was Aveline, Milly, Cedar, Jordanne and Odette.  Fascinating!

Next, a few things on my mind:

• The following question keeps popping up in searches leading to this site:  Can I name my daughter Kylie and my son Kyle?   Yes, yes, you can.  But you just flat out should not do so.  It’s too close, too cutesie and if you ever had a third child, you’d be forced to choose from a very small list of names indeed.  (I think she’d have to be Kyla or Skyla, and he’d be Kyson or Kyler.  Or feel horribly left out.); 
• My vocabulary keeps expanding, thanks to name sites.  I’ve recently discovered the Aussie slang word bogan, the equivalent of the British chavvy or American trashy.  I think.  Apparently, phonetic spellings like Taylah for Taylor are a thing, or so blogs a Doc Down Under during her pediatric rotation;
• A UK blogger mentioned that a BBC3 documentary on a 14 y.o. mum called Kizzy mentioned that she named her son Kaylib.  Not Caleb, not Kaleb, but Kaylib.  As if having your childhood immortalized on reality TV wasn’t bad enough;
• Could the name Merlin make a comeback?  That’s right, a comeback – he appeared in the US Top 1000 regularly from the 1890s through the 1960s.  It first crossed my mind while watching Bravo’s The Fashion Show, with the Honduran Merlin.  Even if he doesn’t strike it big in the design world, there’s the BBC’s Merlin, now showing on NBC this summer.  If Arthur can make  a comeback …
• Another Bravo-influenced thought, couldn’t they have found better-named kids for their real-life-Gossip Girl, NYC Prep?  The cast includes PC, Sebastian, Kelli, Taylor, Jessie and Camille.  I realize you can’t rename full-grown human beings, but I’ll take GG’s Rufus, Lily, Serena and Blair anyday;
• Lastly, a look back – on July 5, 2008, the Name of the Day was Jasper.

That’s all for this week!  Tune in next week for Flannery, Dahlia, Gregor, Brisa and Clifford.

Ava is an unstoppable Top Ten choice.  Parents are rediscovering Ida, too.  But if you find Ava too popular and Ida too retro, today’s choice might just be the perfect compromise.

Thanks to Sophie for suggesting Ada as Name of the Day.

Ada is often listed as a nickname for Adelaide, and that’s certainly sometimes true.  But she’s no mere diminutive.  Ada stands on her own quite nicely.  She’s also pan-global, with at least three possible derivations:

• The Biblical Ada or Adah was worn by two women – the wife of Lamech and the wife of Esau;
• Just like Adelaide – and Adele, Adela, Adeline and so on – she may trace her roots to the Germanic element adal – noble;
• There’s  a West African name Ada, usually said to mean “first daughter.”  The element Ada appears in many names from the region, including Adanna and Adaeke.   There’s also a town called Ada in Ghana.

Given her many possible origins, it is little wonder that there’s more than one way to say Ada.  AY dah is probably most common in the US, but I’ve known an ah DAH and you can make a case for AH dah, too.

There’s also a Greek origin for Ada, though the meaning is lost to time.  Back in the 300s BC, Ada of Caria ruled as satrap.  She lost her lands to a relative, only to have them restored through an alliance with Alexander the Great.

Plenty of notables have worn the name since then, including:

• St. Ada, a French nun from the 600s;
• Charlemagne’s sister is usually called Ada, and an illuminated manuscript dedicated to her is known as the Ada Gospels.  However, it may not have been her formal name – their mother was Bertrada; one of Charlemagne’s wives was Fastrada, and he had daughters called Adalhaid, Adaltrude and Theodrada;
• Ada de Warenne, a twelfth century wife of a Scottish prince and mother of two future Kings of Scots;
• Dutch and Scottish countesses were both called Ada in the thirteenth century, along with a scattering of other noblewomen;
• Nabokov used the name for a 1969 novel.

The Biblical reference might’ve prompted some parents to rediscover Ada in the post-Reformation years.  But it was the poet Byron who revived this choice in the nineteenth century.  Though he named his daughter after her aunt Augusta, she was always known by her middle name – Ada.  Her parents separated while she was just a babe, but the charming and clever Ada Lovelace was no less accomplished than her famous father.  In fact, Ada’s work with Charles Babbage is acknowledged as the earliest model for a computer and software.  The US Defense Departement even named a computer language Ada in her honor.

The name was a sensation in the nineteenth century, ranking as high as #33 back in 1880.  Ada remained in the Top 100 thru 1912, but fell afterwards, leaving the rankings entirely after 1985.

But today she’s back, fueled by the revival of interest in Biblical choices and nineteenth century names alike.  In 2004, she ranked #852.  By last year, Ada stood at #598.

She’s in good company.  Other vowel-intensive mini-names in vogue include:

• Powerhouse Ava (#5)
• The just-slightly-different Eva (#114)
• The tiny Ana (#169)
• The botanical Ivy (#298 )
• The Slavic Anya (#375)
• The equally pan-global Ayla (#406)

She could also serve as a nickname for Addison (#12), Adeline (#361) and company.

Ada fits so neatly into more than one trend that she’s both a perfect choice for a daughter born in 2009 – and a possible source of headaches, as her name is constantly mistaken for Ava or Ana or Addie.

Aidan has gone supernova.  Connor is heard everywhere.  What’s a parent in search of an authentic Irish appellation to do?

Thanks to Bek for suggesting one fresh option.  Today’s Name of the Day is the dashing Doyle.

Doyle is indeed a surname, and he’s undeniably Irish.  He roots are with the Gaelic Dubhghall.  It translates roughly to dark stranger from dubh – black – and gall - stranger.  What’s interesting is that the dark strangers were actually Scandinavians.  Most histories suggest that Dubhghall would’ve been applied to the Danes, who were just a smidge less fair than the Norwegians – who were called the Fionnghall, or fair strangers.

Over the centuries, Dubhghall was reduced and Anglicized until it became Doyle – one of the most common surnames in Ireland today.  It may also have become a popular substitute for many an unrelated name, including MacDowell.

Doyle has all the friendly openness of other Gaelic choices like Aidan and Ronan, but also a certain cerebral appeal thanks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creative force behind über-sleuth Sherlock Holmes.

Plenty of other real life Doyles can be found, in nearly any field of endeavour.  A sampling includes:

• Clyde Doyle, a California politician in the 40s and 50s;
  
• David Doyle, the actor who played Bosley on Charlie’s Angels;
  
• Poet Kirby Doyle, a contemporary of Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac;
• Actress Maria Doyle Kennedy, known as Katherine of Aragon on Showtime’s The Tudors.

There are also fictional Doyles galore, including:

• Roz Doyle, Frasier’s producer;
• Gene Hackman’s character in The French Connection, Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle;
• There’s been a Maggie Doyle on ER and on the Australian police drama Blue Heelers;
• Remember when Rick Schroder guest starred on 24?  His character was Mike Doyle;
• Another Doyle was Allen Francis Doyle, a part-demon character on Buffy-spinoff Angel.
  

Lest you think Doyle is only a surname, it is worth noting that Doyle was once regularly in use as a first name, charting as high as #195 back in 1931, and appearing every year between 1894 and 1981.

Overall, Doyle is undeniably appealing.  He’s a surname choice that seems unlikely to be stolen by the girls.  He’s as Irish as Aidan, but far more distinctive.  And while he’s not often heard as a first name, he’d be instantly familiar to all.

Love the name Violet but want to make sure your daughter never shares her name with another girl?  Try this exotic twist.

Thanks to Sarah for suggesting Iolanthe as Name of the Day.

Not so long ago, the only girl called Violet was one of the frightful children in the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  Fast forward to 2008, and she’s a starbaby staple coming soon to a playground near you.  From #904 in 1998 to #184 in 2008, Violets are in full bloom.

Iolanthe may also derive from the Greek iole coupled with anthos – flower.  (Violet evolved from the Latin version of the word – viola.)  Yolanda may also have come from the same roots.

Yolanda, Yolande, Iolanda and Jolánta were around in the Middle Ages, and worn by royals and aristocrats throughout Europe.  A thirteenth century poem celebrates Iolanda of Vianden, a national hero in Luxembourg.  Rather than consent to an appropriate marriage, she became a nun – and a legend. Yolanda broke in the US Top 100 back in the 1960s.  You can still find plenty of Jolantas in modern day Poland.

But Iolanthe is quite rare.  She’s never charted in the US, and she’s often attributed to Gilbert & Sullivan – wrongly.

The comic opera Iolanthe, also known as The Peer and the Peri or sometimes Perola, debuted at the Savoy Theatre in London in 1882.  It’s all about a fairy named – what else? – Iolanthe.  Years ago, she was booted from Fairy Land for marrying a mortal.  Now there’s a movement afoot to welcome her back, along with her half-mortal son.  Much merriment, confusion and singing ensues.

Iolanthe – or Iolanta – was also the title of a Tchaikovsky opera from 1892 – well after the Gilbert & Sullivan musical’s debut.

But here’s the thing – Tchaikovsky’s source for the tale of Iolanta, a blind princess, was Henrik Hertz’s Kong Renés Datter – King René’s Daughter.  Hertz was a Danish poet and playwright, and he scored a huge international hit with his 1845 play.  This puts Iolanthe in use three decades prior to Gilbert & Sullivan’s fairy frolic/political commentary.  And lest you think that only the Russians read the Danish poet, Henrik Hertz’ work was translated into most European languages – and certainly English.

Even if Iolanthe wasn’t truly medieval, she’s certianly musical and literary.  Perhaps her biggest shortcoming is the pronunciation challenge.  I’ve come across at least four options:

• yo LAHN thee
• yoh LAN thee
  
• i-oh-lan-THEE
  
• i-oh-LAN-thee

I’m most fond of #4, especially since it leads to the stargazer nickname Io, making your daugther’s name both botanical and astronomical.  And, while I’ve not heard it in use, you could also opt for something like i-oh-LANTH.  She’s so rare that few would correct  you.

Other than Io, nicknames are a bit tricky.  Antha would work, and the old school Iola might be an option, too.

Still, if you’re looking for a seldom-heard botanical name, Iolanthe is worth considering.  You  might also consider the more accessible Viola. But if you’re looking for a truly daring choice, Iolanthe is certainly distinctive.

He’s an Old Testament choice who was current in the nineteenth century.  So why isn’t he leaping up the charts in 2009?

Thanks to Wrenn for suggesting another one from the family tree for today’s Name of the Day: Enoch.

Enoch shares his long “e” with Ethan – EE nock.  Even so, you’ll sometimes here eh nuck- a pronunciation unfortunately close to eunuch.

His roots are Biblical.  In the Book of Genesis, Enoch is Cain’s firstborn.  Another Enoch is proud papa of the long-lived Methuselah.  But he would’ve been spelled Hanokh, Hanoch, Chanoch or Chanokh.

The name appears a few more times in the Old Testament too, and has two possible Hebrew sources:

• Enlightenment or wisdom – chinuch;
• Dedicated or consecrated – hanakh.

Visit an Ethiopian Orthodox Church, and you might hear a reference to the Biblical Book of Enoch.  While it isn’t considered canonical by most Christians, you can find references to the writings – even in the New Testament.

The Book of Enoch is all about fallen angels.  (The angels ask Enoch to plead their case for reinstatement to God.)  Back in the sixteenth century, John Dee and Edward Kelley proposed a system of magic termed Enochian, along with a divine language wearing the same name.  Before you dismiss Dee and Kelley as crackpots, remember that the line between science and magic was fuzzy in Elizabethan England.  Dee was a trained mathematician and respected figure – an advisor to the the queen herself.  (Kelley, on the other hand, was apparently a swindler.)  The tales of angelic battles are fascinating, and even today, Enoch figures in Masonic legend and lore.

Enoch probably owes some of his popularity to the Biblical figures and some to Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s 1864 poem “Enoch Arden.”  Even if you don’t know the original, the story of Enoch Arden should sound familiar:  man takes to the seas to support his wife and children.  His ship sinks, but he survives.  Years later, he returns only to find that his wife has remarried.  (Cast Away, anyone?  Was Tennyson himself borrowing from Homer?)

Back in 1880, Enoch ranked #202 in the US.  By 1900, he’d fallen to #367.  His steady decline continued, and by 1957 he’d just about left Top 1000, though his last appearance was in 1976.

A scattering of Enochs can be found throughout US history:

• Baltimore businessman and philanthropist Enoch Pratt left his fortune to help establish one of the country’s first private hospitals for the treatment of mental illness;
• A nineteenth century governor of Maine was called Enoch Lincoln;
• President Calvin Coolidge apparently bestowed the appellation on his pet goose.  (He also had a donkey called Ebeneezer.)

It is tough to say why Enoch has never caught on.  But perhaps the most interesting twist to Enoch is his equivalent in Islam – Idris, a name that also appears in Welsh mythology.  A ninth-century Muslim leader named Idris ibn Abdullah captured Algeria.  Actor Idris Elba is well-known for his work on HBO’s The Wire, as well as guest-starring as Michael’s boss on The Office.

Enoch could fit right in with Ethan and Elijah.  And Idris sounds just right with choices like Isaac and Isaiah.  Both are quirky, but have charm aplenty if you dare.