I have been told, at least once that I recall, that I was named for my paternal grandparents: Mallie and Lannes (nicknamed Lanny) rather than Gone With the Wind’s iconic Melanie, although that is how my name is spelled, as opposed to Mallanny. (Lately, though, I have given some brief consideration to having it legally changed – just to be different.)
Funny that, because growing up “Melanie” was an uncommon name and I wanted nothing more than to be a Debbie or a Susie or even a Judy. Any name that would not call attention to my individuality and that would help me “blend in” with the other kids. I did NOT want to be different, but it seemed that no matter what I did, I was, and I never had a secure feeling of belonging anywhere. It wasn’t until high school that I ran across another Melanie – two of them, in fact – but it was still an uncommon name,
I originally picked up a copy of Lareina Rule’s Name Your Baby when I was in either junior high or high school, to help me come up with creative names for characters in my short stories and “novels”.
According to Rule’s book, the name “Melanie” is derived from the Greek Melanos and means “black or dark”. It was an epithet for “Demeter”, the Greek goddess of agriculture. I have found other sources of baby names which give the meaning as: dark-clothed, dark-skinned, and dark-haired.
It’s been a little harder to find the meaning of my middle name: Mallie, but thanks to the Internet, I have found one or two alternative meanings. According to babynamer.com, the name’s source is Miryam, a Hebrew name meaning "Wished-for child” and it is a nickname for Mary, which means “bitter or bitterness”. Babynamesworld.com also gives the name a Hebrew origin with the meaning unclear, but perhaps “bitter”, and again, a pet name for Mary. Thinkbabynames.com says that Mallie is a variant of either Mary or Melinda and means “star of the sea” or “sweet”. (Our Lady, Star of the Sea is an ancient title for the Blessed Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus Christ, and according to Rule’s book, Melinda, or Malinda, from the Greek Meilichos, means “mild, gentle one.”)
The meaning of my name, especially my first name, has always resonated with me, because I have always felt a “blackness” or “darkness” inside of me. I am sure these feelings originated during those angst-ridden teenage years when I first began writing all that dark, bleak poetry which caused my mother to worry so much about me. But I have often wondered whether the “naming” of a child, intentional or not, is a harbinger of that child’s emotional proclivities and eventual success in life.
I have tried to be careful in the naming of my own children – all sons – although probably not as successful as I (or they) would have liked. Without telling you what their given names are, in order of birth, my sons’ first and middle names mean:
“Ruler of the people” and “well-born, noble”
“From the crossroads” and “tile maker”
“Gentle, loveable” and “supplanter”
“Believer in Christ, anointed one” and “warlike one” (Oops! That’s oxymoronic!)
“A fuller of cloth, or cloth-thickener” and “handsome, cheerful, harmonious one”
Would that some of these names, at least, bear fruit.
Which leads me back to my “namesake”, the Goddess Demeter.
Oddly, I have always identified more readily with Demeter’s daughter, the abducted Persephone than with the distraught mother Demeter, wreaking havoc on an innocent world, although as I stop to think about it now, I am perhaps more like Demeter than I wish to admit, sinking into the oblivion of despair during the “winters” of my life and wreaking a kind of emotional havoc on the innocents in my own world, leaving them to fend for themselves while I frantically search for my own Persephone and my own hopeful Spring. This is not a pleasant thought.
In Classic Greek mythology, Persephone was the daughter of Demeter and Zeus who were also, I understand, sister and brother. Wandering about with her friends one day, she is lured to a particular spot by the beautiful and fragrant narcissus. The ground beneath her breaks open and she falls into the underground world of the dead. I imagine her fall was somewhat similar to
Poor confused Persephone, both Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld. Was she a victim of a Greek-like Stockholm syndrome, identifying with her abductor (in cahoots with her own father)? For I am sure that Hades could be quite charming and beguiling, despite his reputation. I confess I see him more as Sade’s “smooth operator”, the irresistible “bad boy” replete with bespoke black leather outfits and the captivating good looks of a romance novel hero (rather than the bumbling blue-skinned villain portrayed in Disney’s Hercules).
By whatever machinations the Greek gods conducted their affairs, Hades is convinced to release Persephone, but not before persuading, or tricking, her into consuming three (some say four, six, seven) pomegranate seeds. (Is it any coincidence that the name “pomegranate” is derived from the Latin pomum “apple” and granatus “seeded?)
Because of this, Persephone is doomed to return – winter after winter – to the netherworld to spend three months (some sources say both autumn and winter) of the year with her dark consort, and the earth suffers in her absences until she again returns, faithfully, every spring.
It is a mother’s grief and despair which catapults the world into cold and darkness, and a mother’s boundless joy which brings the earth into hope and renewal: green emerging from the frozen ground, the return of bees and birds and butterflies, and unrestrained colors bursting forth from endless fields of flowers.
What’s in a name? Who’s to say? As I journey through my own seasons, as Persephone, or Demeter, from winter to spring and back again, I begin to understand life’s continuous cycle, this natural process, perhaps beginning in despair, but always leading back to hope.
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