Can people be formed by what they are called? That is the premise of Brazilian writer Leonardo Garzaro’s latest offering, which flows from a dispute between a baron and his wife over what to call their child. One character is determined to steal the page where his name was first written, while a teenager tries to make fuller use of his nickname.
An author of widely translated short stories, Garzaro has also written for children, with his book The Smile of the Lion, which is famous in his home country. He spoke to Al Majalla about the creative process, including how he writes on the wall of his home and why the literature of the Global South is the most interesting in the world.
What inspired you to write The Guardian of Names? Was there a specific story or event that sparked the idea?
I have always been fascinated by names. In Brazil, the traditions surrounding naming practices are shaped by our history of settlement and colonisation. In the south, names often reflect Catholic influences and the legacy of the royal family that ruled Brazil until 1891. In the north, naming is more creative and free-spirited.
This divergence has always intrigued me. Although my studies and professional life initially took me in different directions, I continued researching anthroponymy and toponymy (the study of personal names and place names, respectively).
One day, while searching for a novel theme, I picked up The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa. Its heteronyms (words with the same spellings but with different meanings and pronunciations) sparked my imagination.
I recalled the title The Keeper of Flocks, and almost instantly, the phrase The Guardian of Names came to mind. Captivated by these words and the concept of a man who safeguards names, I developed an entire novel around this idea.
Why do you believe names hold such power and importance in our lives?
This is the central question of the book: how do names shape who we are? Would we be different if we had different names? It links to a fundamental question in the philosophy of language: if we used other words, would we see reality differently?
For me, the goal is not to answer these questions definitively but to explore them through literature. Names are undeniably central to human culture across all organised societies. Many sacred texts, for instance, begin with the act of naming, of names being chosen or revealed. The first word ever spoken was almost certainly a name.
It is interesting how place names often resist change, even when governments try. Some places retain the same name for centuries, even when the meaning or origin is lost to time. This deep attachment to names is fascinating. So, I set out to write a novel where names were not peripheral but central.
How did you create and develop the characters in the novel?
This was the most rewarding part. I love letting my imagination run free. Having studied and reflected on names for so long, it felt natural to let the ideas flow. That’s how my characters came to life. None are based on people I know. I envisioned their existence, the conflicts tied to their identities, and their names, and then wrote their stories.
A baron and his wife who argue over what to name their seventh child is a key plot point. What does this conflict reveal about the characters and their values?
This brings to light several layers of patriarchal society, with women denied even the right to choose the name of their last child and the privileged position of men, who view cultural property not as something earned but as an inherent right. It also highlights the weight the characters place on a name as if to determine the future of the unborn child.
The teenager’s decision to adopt his nickname as his official first name is intriguing. What message were you trying to convey with this character’s journey?
This short story was inspired by Mircea Eliade’s The Sacred and the Profane. I studied religious names and in some cultures, there is the concept of the secret name, revealed only when a person comes of age. This idea fascinates me.
I also considered monarchs who adopt new names upon ascending to the throne, religious leaders who change their names when they reach the highest office, and even bandits and prostitutes who take on war names. It’s a provocative comparison.
In the short story, a teenager is about to receive his secret name as a rite of passage into adulthood, but when he learns the name, he hates it. Instead, he wants to be known by his street nickname, his gang name. In his frustration, he seeks out the Guardian of Names, who offers a curious solution: to use both names to embrace duality. The story, then, is an exploration of identity as something fluid, layered, and multifaceted.
