What Do I Call This Thing?

I hate finding titles for stories.  Many of my stories go through their entire writing process with a placeholder title (often just the name of the main character) and sometimes I'm still trying to find something good to call it so that I can submit the thing.  Occasionally it's different and the title just falls into place, but usually it's one of the hardest parts of writing the story.

So I hope you'll understand that I'm not pretending to give some kind of expert lesson on how to come up with a title (and if anyone knows of one, please point me to it).  I just want to discuss some of the problems I've had, and some of the solutions I've found — as well as a few examples from classic books — in the hope they'll be useful to someone.

Broadly speaking, there seem to be three kinds of titles: descriptions, allusions and quotes.  Literal descriptions are the easiest, when they work, but they can risk being flat and pedestrian.  They're best, perhaps, when they're both descriptive and evocative.  Lord of the Rings is just the designation of the main antagonist, but it's a haunting phrase and makes an effective title.  Michael Moorcock's Stormbringer is the name of the hero's sentient sword, but again it's a name that can send shivers up the spine.

Two of my available books have descriptive titles, though treated in slightly different ways.  The Temple of Taak-Resh is a light sword & sorcery tale set mostly inside the temple in question (Taak-Resh being the god it's dedicated to).  This was one title that gave me very little trouble.  Once I'd established the setting, it seemed an obvious way of evoking that slightly old-school S & S feel.

By contrast, The Triarchy's Emissary is descriptive (it defines the main character) but more mysterious.  The working title for this one, as far as I remember, was Assignment in Faiz (the city it takes place in) but that felt a bit clunky and gave the wrong vibe, more like a spy-story set in the Middle East than fantasy.  The Triarchy is something the reader learns about in the course of the story, and working out in what sense the character is its emissary creates tension.

The Treason of Memory went through its entire first draft, and a good deal of its revision, simply called Estent, the main character's name.  There seemed no obvious descriptive title, so I had to sit down * and work out what the thing was actually about.

For one thing, it was a political thriller, though in a fantasy context, about a plot against the kingdom, so treason would be a good word to get in there.  It was also about the main character's memory being tampered with, but there seemed no obvious way to link the two.  Except that he's been let down — betrayed — by something we're used to relying on.  The treason of his memory.  The phrase fell into place, and I knew I had the right title.

Steal Away appears to have been a little easier.  I used the main character's name during the first draft, but I seem to have found the right title as soon as I'd finished that.  This one is something of a pun.  The two central characters are carrying out a burglary so they have enough money to get away from the city they're in — steal… away.  It's also very possible that at the same time I was thinking of a line from Robin Williamson's lovely song "For Mr Thomas": Let us steal away whatever we're supposed to steal.  That can happen.

Sometimes, a title can have multiple meanings and be both a description and an allusion.  Return Switch, an unpublished story, describes a piece of technology (magical tech, that is) that's crucial to the story, but it also refers, quite separately, to something that happens at the story's climax.

In the 19th century and before, the literal title was most common (think of all the Dickens novels whose titles are just the main character's name) and it's still found widely, but the allusive title has become more popular.  An early example is Henry James's The Turn of the Screw, which refers to what's figuratively happening, rather than anything literal.

Sometimes, a title does refer to something physically and literally in the story, but its symbolism far outweighs its literal presence.  In James Branch Cabell's Figures of Earth, published in 1921, the main character does in fact obsessively make mud figures, but this is hardly the main plot.  More to the point, the book is essentially about how we obsessively create a series of fronts for the world to see us: It is the figure of a man, which I have modelled and remodelled, sir, but cannot seem to get exactly to my liking, as the hero puts it.

On the other hand, a title can refer purely and simply to the mood of the story, rather than the plot.  Perhaps my favourite example of this is one of Karl Edward Wagner's Kane stories from the 1970s.  Who would expect a straightforward (plotwise, at least) sword & sorcery tale to be called Reflections for the Winter of My Soul?  And still less for the title to work.

A third approach to creating a title is to use a quotation, which may mean something in its own right but gains far more significance if the reader understands the context of its source.  At An Uncertain Hour (a title the novel certainly didn't have in the earlier stages of its creation) is taken from Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and the whole comparison between the Traveller and the Mariner is crucial to understanding the novel's theme.  On the other hand, it also has a literal aspect.  The plot jumps around between multiple time-periods like the Doctor on speed, and much of the time the hour really is uncertain.

I've used quotes for a few other titles (Ancestral Voices, also from Coleridge, and A Deed Without a Name, from Shakespeare) but this approach was especially common in the earlier 20th century, though it goes back at least as far as Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd (Thomas Gray). Well-known examples include For Whom the Bell Tolls (Donne), Tender Is the Night (Keats), Brave New World (Shakespeare), Of Mice and Men (Burns) and many more. A recent fantasy example is Abercrombie's The Blade Itself, a phrase taken from Homer.

Sometimes the meaning is clear enough even without the original context, but at other times it's completely incomprehensible.  J. M. Barrie's play Dear Brutus, for instance, has nothing whatsoever to do with Romans, or even with assassins.  It's about characters who are all unhappy with their lives and are magically given a second chance, only to find they make exactly the same mistakes again.  The title comes from the scene in Julius Caesar where Cassius tells Brutus The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Of course, this risks turning into an elitist guessing game.  In my case, I've tried to avoid that by quoting the relevant passage at the front of the book and giving all the information readers need to look the rest of it up.  If they choose not to — well, I can't force them.

There are a lot more subtleties than this in finding titles, but hopefully these ramblings might give you something to go on if you get as stuck as I do with them.  Fundamentally, though, any title (unless you're lucky enough that it comes to you fully formed) has to start with asking yourself what the story is really about.

Other than about four hundred pages.

 

* Most likely, I was already sitting down, but somehow we always have to "sit down and" do something intense.  I wonder why.

Naming the Nobility

Epic fantasy, in particular, often deals with royalty and nobility, and many authors use the traditional European hierachy and titles.  That isn’t necessary, of course.  You can make up your own titles, or base them on a different real-world tradition (Japanese, for instance) but some people either find it comfortable to make it familiar or want to give their story a semi-historical feel.  So they fall back on dukes, earls and the rest.

Which would be well and good, except that some of these writers (***coughEddingscough***) don’t seem to have much idea of how the system works.  So I thought it might be useful to give a brief outline of the various ranks, titles and ways of addressing the nobility.  I’m not saying, of course, that you need them in writing fantasy, but if you’re going to use them, use them right.

A few general points to start with.  The first is that all (or almost all) titles have a female equivalent, though for brevity I’ll mainly talk about the male title, since historically the vast majority of title-holders have been male.  The European custom is that the wife of a titled man will have the female equivalent as an courtesy title, but the husband of a titled woman doesn’t receive anything.  A duke’s wife is always a duchess, but the husband of a duchess in her own right won’t be a duke – unless, of course, he has his own title.

The second point is that different names are given in different countries to the same rank of nobility, and some writers make the mistake of using these as if they were different.  You can’t, for instance, have both earls and counts in the same country – though it would make perfect sense to have earls in one country and counts in another.

A third point is that the children of nobility don’t have the same, or equivalent, title as their parents, until they inherit it (this is something I’ve seen in fantasy novels).  They might, of course, be given an equivalent rank in their own right.  For instance, the future King Henry IV of England, who was son and heir of the Duke of Lancaster, was granted the title of Duke of Hereford while his father was still alive, but this wasn’t by right as being a duke’s son.

The only exception I can think of was in the Frankish kingdom, where every son of a king was automatically given the title of king at birth.  The succession worked on a last-man-standing basis.  That was an anomaly, though.

To start at the top, we have emperor/empress.  This is perhaps the least defined of them all.  It was originally a Roman military rank, and was traditionally applied to rulers who claimed continuity from either the Roman or Byzantine empires, but it’s been applied to other rulers, and has been used as a translation of titles such as Mikado.

In general, any single ruler of an empire can be styled an emperor.  He should rule a domain made up from multiple peoples, where one dominates the rest (if they’re equal, it would be a federation).  An emperor or empress is styled his/her/your Imperial Majesty and is officially e.g. Emperor John, i.e. without a surname.  Children will be princes or princesses, although the heir is sometimes styled Grand Duke.

King/queen is obvious enough: a single ruler of a fairly unified realm, usually chosen for life by right of descent, although systems of election have sometimes been used (though not democratic election).  A king will be styled his/her/your Majesty, though in a mediaeval setting, “my liege” is a better form of address, and will be e.g. King John (though many Polish kings, for some reason, are referred to by first name and surname).  The ubiquitous “my king”, “my queen” etc. is incorrect.

A king’s children will have the courtesy title of prince/princess, though any other title they’re given in their own right (e.g. duke) will normally outrank that.

Prince/princess can either be an courtesy title, as mentioned above, for the children of a king or queen, or the ruler of a self-contained region who owes personal allegiance to a king or emperor.  The best-known example of this is Prince of Wales, the title held by the eldest son of the English king since the 13^th century, and other European monarchies have an equivalent – in Spain, for instance, it’s Prince of Asturias.

Occasionally, a principality will achieve complete independence, and the prince will become, in effect, a king.  Present-day examples of this in Europe are Monaco and Liechtenstein.

In imperial Russia, prince was a rank of the nobility, rather than being connected with the royal family.

A prince/princess is styled his/her/your Highness (or Royal Highness, or Imperial Highness if the son or daughter of an emperor) and a prince’s children (though not normally a princess’s, unless she rules a principality in her own right) will have the same title.  A prince is Prince John, except for the Russian princes mentioned above, who would be Prince John Smith.

Grand Duke/Grand Duchess is a title that evolved gradually during the mediaeval period referring to semi-autonomous rulers of large provinces, too big and powerful to be styled duchies.  Many, as with the Dukes of Burgundy in the 15^th century, were self-conferred, but the title became more common in post-mediaeval times, especially in Germany and Russia.

The only grand duchy in Europe now is Luxembourg, and the autonomous grand duke is in the same position as the autonomous princes.  The correct form of address is “Royal Highness” or “Grand Ducal Highness”.

The heirs to the Austrian and Russian emperors were usually granted the title of grand duke.

Duke/Duchess (spellings vary, e.g. French duc, but the title doesn’t vary greatly) is normally the highest rank that qualifies as nobility rather than royalty, although many dukes have tended to be members of the royal family.  A duke/duchess is styled his/her/your Grace, and their children have the courtesy title lord/lady (always with the first name – Lord John or Lord John Smith, not Lord Smith) although they may be given specific titles of Marquess or Earl that are in the family’s gift.

A duke will always be the Duke of Somewhere – he might be referred to as Duke John, but that isn’t strictly correct.  Occasionally, a woman holding the title in her own right will be styled duke, rather than duchess.  Queen Elizabeth II, for instance, technically holds the title Duke of Normandy and of Lancaster, not Duchess (it’s as Duke of Normandy that she reigns over the Channel Islands).

There are two kinds of dukes – those that hold a dukedom and those that hold a duchy.  A dukedom is simply the state of being a duke, but a duchy is, like the semi-autonomous principalities, a state ruled by a duke who’s the personal vassal of a monarch.  The only two duchies in England are Lancaster and Cornwall, and, in a feudal sense, inhabitants of those are subjects of the duke, who’s a subject of the queen.  This is academic, firstly because citizenship laws outrank feudal ones, secondly because the Duke of Lancaster is always the monarch and the Duke of Cornwall the heir.  In a mediaeval-style setting, though, this distinction would be very important.

Marquess/Marchioness (French Marquis/Marquise, German Margrave/Margravine) was originally an earl/count/graf who had extra powers and rights in return for holding the marches (i.e. border-country).  Many marquesses are the eldest sons of dukes, waiting to inherit the main title, but some hold the title in their own right – the Marquess of Bath, for instance.

A marquess/marchioness is styled his lordship/her ladyship/my lord/my lady, and can be properly addressed or referred to as e.g. Lord Bath (this is also true of an earl, viscount or baron, but not a duke).

Earl/Countess (general European Count, French Comte/Comtesse, German Graf/Gräfin) is, along with baron, the most common rank of nobility, and can be either the Earl of Somewhere, Earl John or Earl Smith (though the two former are probably safer for fantasy, and certainly for a mediaeval setting).  The correct style and address are the same as for a marquess.

Earl was the Anglo-Saxon title, while count was used in the Frankish domains.  William of Normandy tried to rename the English earls as counts, but that didn’t last.  However, the wife of an earl had no specific title, other than the all-purpose Lady, so the female form stuck.  That’s why the wife of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, is properly Lady Godgifu (or Godiva) but is referred to in the Domesday Book as the Countess Godiva.

A count could be the ruler of a “county” (not really the same as a modern county) in the same way a duke was of a duchy, but might be either the direct vassal of the king, or vassal to the local duke.

The sons of an earl have the courtesy title “the Honourable” (shortened to “the Hon.”) before their names, while daughters are “Lady” (like Lady Diana Spencer).  An earldom may also be given as a courtesy title to the son of a duke or marquess.

Viscount/Viscountess (French Vicomte/Vicomtesse) is literally a “vice-count”, and therefore one step down from an earl/count.  The rank is often given to the heir of an earl, but can be held in its own right.  The style and address is the same as above, and the title is either Viscount of Somewhere, Viscount Smith, or Viscount Smith of Somewhere.

Baron/Baroness is the lowest rank of nobility.  Under the feudal system, a baron held a large stretch of land either directly from the king or from a duke or count, and individual knights would hold their manors from the baron.  A baron isn’t “of” anywhere (although modern life-peers are usually “Baron Smith of Cleethorpes” or whatever).  They would normally be Lord John in a mediaeval context, or Lord Smith later.  The correct style is as above.

The children of a baron have the courtesy title “the Honourable”.

Knight (French Chevalier, German Ritter, many others you can easily look up) counts as gentry (i.e. a gentleman) rather than nobility.  A knight was specifically a military rank, so traditionally there was no female equivalent – if you want a female knight in your world, she’ll just have to be a knight.  I’m not aware of any historical cases, but several appeared in the mediaeval romances.  A knight’s wife would simply be styled Lady, or Dame in French, and the latter is used as the female equivalent in modern times.

A knight may be styled either Sir John or Sir John Smith.  He should never, ever, under any circumstances, be styled Sir Smith.  His wife would be Lady Mary.

Baronet is, essentially, a hereditary knight – Sir Winston Churchill was a baronet.  The title is post-mediaeval, and is in all other ways the same as knight.

This isn't by any means a complete explanation of the subject: for that, you'd need Burke's or Debrett's, which you might find in a large reference library, although they're probably online by now.  I hope, though, it's given enough idea of the nobility's overall structure to be useful in writing fantasy.