What’s in a Name?
Just like expectant parents, writers give a lot of thought to the names of their characters. Sometimes it’s a favorite name—I have always liked the name Beth. Sometimes it’s a name that carries personal meaning, like Alice, my mother’s name, or Josephine, the name of an aunt I never met, but often heard about, because she died at seventeen of tuberculosis. The name should fit a personality, or at least set up an expectation that the character either lives up to or rejects, making a statement in itself. Think of an Elizabeth or Samantha choosing to go by Betty or Sam. Finally, in some cases, a name can carry a level of symbolism that may be obvious or subtle, such as Joy (obvious) or Dolores (subtler–meaning sorrows). Names are never given lightly. They always mean something to the writer.
When I began my novel, I considered, for my protagonist, two names that I’ve always liked, both for their sound and meaning. The first, Esperanza, means hope, and the second, Alma, means soul. But there is only one Esperanza in literature, and that is the main character in Sandra Cisneros’s, The House on Mango Street, a novel I taught on many levels: middle school, high school, and even college. Consequently, the voice that spoke as I began to write belonged to Alma from the start. She is a soulful, passionate, and spirited young woman, who speaks her mind without hesitation. She is exactly as she appears to be, no demure pretenses or repressed emotions, no cutesy nickname or shortened form. She is simply and directly Alma.
Her lovely sister, elegant, slender, and fragile, was immediately and appropriately Rosa.
Sweet, earnest Manuel, with a mop of hair that keeps falling in his eyes, his is a common name in Spanish. I’ve had many students named Manuel, and I liked the sound of it; however, I have since discovered that its meaning ‘God is with us’ is derived from the older biblical name Immanuel or Emmanuel. While I intended no religious connotation, my Manuel was certainly loving and protective.
As for Alma’s daughter Luz, her name came from a very organic and meaningful place. Luz is Spanish for light, and while she is certainly the light of Alma’s life, there is a very specific reason why she names her Luz. Without giving away important plot details, let me simply say that light and love, luz y amor, were the source of her naming. Once you read the novel, you will understand what I mean.
As for the novel’s title, that was a bit of a journey in itself. Originally, I called the novel Searching for Dolores. In fact, the first sentence, written in 2004, began with “I have finally found her, after so many years and so many miles…,” a scene that now takes place near the end of the novel. The journey north was the focus of the story in this early draft, as Alma and Rosa searched for Dolores Huerta, farmworker champion who worked side by side with Cesar Chavez, and whom Alma’s father often spoke of as he had met them both as a young man working in the fields. In this early draft, there was very little about Alma’s life before or after. As I revised and expanded, the novel then began with Alma and Luz, flashed back to Alma’s life in Oaxaca and Chiapas, then on to the journey, ultimately ending with Luz in the future. At this point, I considered the title, Giving to the Light / Dar a Luz, which is a lovely way of saying “to give birth” in Spanish—to give to the light or to face the light. I also liked the concept of Alma unburdening herself of her story as she tells it to the reader, giving her story to the light. But in discussions with my editor, it did seem a bit too much for a title. At that point, simply Luz was suggested. As I sat with that idea, it became clear that this pure, simple word, luz, was most fitting. The novel’s epigraph from Martin Luther King, Jr is, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.” This was what I hoped to convey in Alma’s story of love and loss, despair and hope. To name the novel Luz felt just right.
As for the names having any connection to writer Alma Luz Villanueva, it was not intentional, though it may have been quite unconscious on my part. As much as I love and admire her, I began writing this novel long before I was in contact with her. Upon the novel’s completion, I wanted the opinion of a Latina writer with firsthand knowledge of both the US and Mexico. Having taken a class associated with Antioch University, I knew novelist and poet Alma Luz Villanueva was on the faculty. She was also a friend of my mentor Gayle Brandeis, who suggested she might be a good person to ask for input. I have to admit, I was a little embarrassed that she would be reading about an Alma and Luz, but she was actually delighted. The truth is I did read her American Book Award winning novel, The Ultraviolet Sky, at a pivotal time in my life back in 1993 when, like her protagonist, I was struggling to express myself both personally and artistically. While years have passed since its initial impact, it all came flooding back when I reread her classic novel recently. Her influence may well have had a say in the naming of my characters after all, for as we know, the source of creativity is a mystery.
