That Which We Call a Crumpleweed
By Kristin Hacken South | February 27, 2025 |
Imagine you’re reading a work of fiction and you come across the names of two characters, Etazik and Walluba. Which would you guess to be the bumbling apple-shaped sidekick? Which one is wiry and quick-witted?
Just as importantly, how self-evident did that conclusion feel to you?
In a valuable recent post, Jeanne Kisacky showed how a name can reflect gender, religion, birth cohort, heritage, and cultural background. Today’s post extends the importance of thoughtful naming to the cellular level of sound.
A famous linguistics experiment uses the nonsense terms kiki and bouba to describe either a curvy blob or an angular pointy star. Devoid of any context, a significant number of respondents consistently associate the sharp-edged star with the quick, explosive sounds of kiki, while the rounded bouba with its languid pronunciation seems a better fit for the curvy blob. This finding holds across speakers of multiple languages and readers of multiple scripts.
I first came across these ideas when I earned my keep as a linguistic analyst, which meant, in part, that I read dictionaries in ten languages to check a proposed name’s associations in international markets. In 2003, for instance, the debut of the Buick LaCrosse was delayed when the company learned that a new, sexualized meaning of lacrosse had developed among Quebecois teens. The car name was changed in Canada, and many a linguistic consultant like myself was kept in business by worried marketing teams.
The conscious level of meaning is the one we commonly think about. Most names are chosen on this level, but another part of my naming work included examining the ways a given name might resonate in the subconscious realm.
The field of phonetic symbolism argues that sounds are more than just building blocks for words: the physical movements to produce them create subconscious meaning. Sounds are made by forcing air out of the lungs through the nose or the throat and over different parts of the mouth—the tongue, the teeth, or the lips. Each movement creates a different sound and, with it, a corresponding sensation.
Move your teeth close together and push your tongue upward. The vowel that results is the tiny bright [ee] sound. Gradually open your mouth while you continue to voice the vowel and it widens and deepens into [ehh]. A slack, open mouth makes the neutral schwa [uh] and the noncommittal [ah], then the [oh] and [oo] sounds result as you close your lips. The front vowels are petite and bright; the back vowels, with a cavernous closed mouth, produce a sense of wonder and awe (ooooh!). The meaning, according to phonetic symbolism, mirrors the production of the sound.
The staccato sounds of [t], [k], and [p] occur near the front of the mouth and require a puff of air in their production. These plosives, bright, shiny, and sharp, literally make a word pop. But put too many together, especially with the excitable front vowels, and you create a discomfiting cacophony. It’s hard to take something seriously when it’s tacky, teeny, icky, sticky, itsy-bitsy. Combine memorable and bright plosives with smooth vowels and a nice liquid sonorant, though, and you have a drink that aids focus but goes down easily: Coca-Cola.
The sonorant consonants, [l], [m], [n], [ng], and [r], force air through the nose. (Try saying one while plugging it closed!) They can be held out indefinitely, like a vowel. These sounds tend to be calming and smooth, melodic and fluid, but, like water, formless, easily shaped by what’s around them and thus weak. Add an energetic [z], however, and the resulting name, Amazon, suggests a gushing and powerful river of goods.
Speaking of [z], the sibilants—[s], [z], and [zh]—force air out like a plosive but can be extended like a sonorant. These sounds give a feeling of speed and precision, but can also signal danger and deception. A snake hisses and slithers, and so do these sounds.
These “rules” exist on a deep enough level that they are applied without conscious thought. Take, for instance, the sonorants. Have you ever noticed that the letters [l], [m], [n], and [r] occur as the only consonants in many women’s names? A non-comprehensive list includes Laura, Lily, Luna, Luana, Lorna, Laurel, Lorelei, Leah, Lola, Lorena, Mary, Maria, Mallory, Melanie, Minnie, Molly, Maren, Mona, Moira, Nora, Norma, Nina, Noreen, Nellie, Naomi, Noelle, Rana, Rowan, Rowena, Rylie, RaeLynn, and Rhiannon.
Perhaps this preponderance of sonorants in female-identified names can be explained by phonetic symbolism: their sounds feed subconsciously into gender stereotypes of ideal feminine qualities. Would you expect a Marilyn Monroe to be anything other than yielding, soft and round in all the right places? Put another way, how often would Norman, Ron, or Lauren come to the top of your list of masculine men?
Knowing how sounds produce meaning lets us use names to create expectations. This is especially true in the world of speculative fiction, when names do not have pre-existing associations. Etazik is sharp and capable, but s/he might be hiding something devious at the core. Walluba’s a great friend, but they might move a little slowly in a crisis. In my unscientific survey of a couple dozen friends and family members, every person paired these names to their respective qualities, and most considered them obvious.
When the acknowledged meaning and the phonetic suggestions are in alignment, the name acquires additional power, as with the examples of Coca-Cola, Amazon and Marilyn Monroe. But consider the mismatch between a Dread Pirate and the phonetically small and weak name of…Wesley? Hmm. Try Roberts. It has more expansive vowels and ends with solid consonants. Heck, it even has the word “robber” built right in.
Or what about Scout? She is a seeker according to the surface meaning of her name, which pairs well with the speedy, active first sounds and final decisive [t]. Atticus, meanwhile, leads out with precision and accuracy, and his name ends with a suggestion that he won’t give up, while the rolling dactylic beat of his name adds a steadying calm. And isn’t it interesting that those two names contain exactly the same consonants, only in reverse order? Harper Lee was probably not thinking on this level when she named her characters, but they doubtless felt like a good pairing when she decided on them. Sound symbolism helps to explain why.
Have you seen sound symbolism successfully put to use, either in your own writing or in others’?
Would a rose smell just as sweet if it were known as a crumpleweed or a sniffbomb?
Kristin Hacken South is happiest on the days that she works on her fiction, which to date has included a few short stories, two middle grade detective stories, and two adult novels. She lives in Atlanta, with three independent book stores within walking distance of her house. Her idea of a good time is still a day in the desert with a trowel in one hand and a notebook in the other.
I think if I smelled two samples of the same rose soap on two different days—one labelled “crumpleweed” and one labelled “sniffbomb”—I’d enjoy the first one more because “sniffbomb” would actively and seriously smell more plastic, like an Instagram advertisement. Crumpleweed I think I might take to more easily, but I would go into the sniff expecting sourness.
At one point I misread “crumpleweed” as “crumplepuff,” which sounds like a type of flaky glazed pastry way outside my budget. Crumplepuffs are going in the WIP.
I fell in love with the bits of phonetic symbolism I learned about in elective Linguistics 301, but never heard the name of the field—or realized it was its own specialization! Are there books on this topic you would recommend for people interested in the field, both academically and as writers?
The phonetic symbolism that I studied, over 25 years ago, has been supplanted by newer resources with better studies attached to them. At the time I started, many traditional linguists considered sound symbolism a hand-wavy pseudoscience along the lines of astrology. Nowadays, though, a great many studies have come out to show that there is something going on.
I’d definitely start with the “bouba and kiki effect” articles, many of which will point you to other sources. I was fascinated by this one [https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/10.1098/rstb.2020.0390], which found the same effect among people who did not speak or read a language with a roman alphabet, thus eliminating the possibility that the effect derives from the shape of the letters rather than the shape of the sounds.
In preparing this short post (and you can see it barely scratches the surface), I also looked at this article [https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/39282365/] and at more public-friendly articles like this [https://daily.jstor.org/whats-brand-name-sounds-persuasion/]. There are many to be found!
A quick Google Scholar search, just now, brought up a 2006 monograph that came from a conference on sound symbolism [https://www.google.com/books/edition/_/Uov84NavOR8C?hl=en&gbpv=1&pg=PR9&dq=sound+symbolism]. It might be worth a read, although I did see that on page six the authors perpetuate the myth of the Spanish language Nova (“doesn’t go”) debacle. It really never happened. That’s why I used the example of the LaCrosse instead.
Bonus content: I left out this paragraph because I feared the post was becoming too long and technical and thus boring:
[F] pops like a plosive but [v] can be held out like a sonorant. Both of these fricatives add va-va-voom. They’re vivid, vivacious, fresh, and full of feeling because they force air quickly through a small opening in the mouth.
As for your Crumplepuff — I first read it as Hufflepuff. My sixth grade teacher used to lament over “the power of suggestion to the immature mind,” but I suspect we’re all a bit immature on the level of sound.
Thank you Kristin! I’ll be digging into these!
Sure, but crumpleweed and sniffbomb are both made of actual English words that have specific meanings. Naming characters focuses on sounds, especially in author-built worlds that speak no language known to us currently. As I noted before, as a writer of what Ursula LeGuin called “mundane” fiction, I generally give my characters names we might all have come across in our daily lives — and, as I also noted in comments on a previous column on naming, sometimes I like to give them names that do not reflect their core characters, because that happens all the time in “real” life. And because I like the tension between the misfit name and the character’s true self. In one case, it was part of the character’s development that she defies the expectations set up by her cute, weak name. I can never know a character until I know their name. Likewise, I have occasionally elevated a walk-on character into an important role because an evocative name came to me out of the blue, as if the character was signaling me that they had something significant to contribute and wanted to join the story.
That’s true. I think one of the best examples I know of for more pure phonological meaning might be Lewis Carrol’s “Jabberwocky.”
“Twas brillig and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.”
I mean, “Gyre” borrows reference from “gyrate,” but most of the rest of the words lean on sound and grammatical placement. I especially love “brillig,” “slithy,” and “gimble.”
Pickjack worked in a coal mine. One day he fell in love with beautiful Oolahlah, who found him sharp and abrasive. She preferred the attentions of Richman, who had never worked a day in his life but knew how to relax.
Pickjack despaired. How was he supposed to take it easy when he might die any day in the mine? Then he met Danny Brown, a rock star phonetic symbolist. Coeds swooned at Brown’s lectures at Hardwood University.
Brown advised Pickjack to change his name. “Your moniker says everything,” Brown said. “Take my pal James Bond. If you know nothing but his name, what do you think of him? Bond. As in stocks and bonds, right? Sophisticated. Rich. I’m telling you, give yourself a colorful and sexy name, like mine,” Brown concluded. “You can’t miss.”
And so Pickjack changed his name to Bodie Lovegood, and we all know how that story turned out!
I had to laugh out loud at your Hardwood University and Bodie Lovegood. You’ve identified another possible use of names: innuendo. Or am I seeing things that aren’t there? :)
This is fascinating! Thanks for a great post.
You’re welcome. I do tend to nerd out a bit over this topic. I’m glad to know others find it interesting!
I would be very excited to see this topic discussed more in future posts! I’m already reading up on it in the meantime.
Kristin, thank you for educating me. I took a linguistics course in grad school, but must have slept through it.
A certain turn of mind can make use of this information, but what it accomplishes for me is to explain after the fact my own characters’ names.
“discomfiting cacophony”–that’s taken from your post. I love it. “discomfit,” discomfort, dissonance, dissatisfaction. “Cacophony” cackle, kickass, crackle, etc. I am hearing these words both for what they mean, but equally important in terms of their sonic associations.
Thank you again.
Hi, Barry.
I suspect your linguistics course didn’t even mention it, or passed by quickly. As I mentioned in my comment to Bryan, above, the field is fairly young. And by that, I mean that it only goes back to Plato. In his Cratylus dialogue, he suggested that the meanings of words might have something to do with the sounds that build them, but in the end he decided it couldn’t be so. That has held as the majority view for the past 2500-odd years, but it is changing, and rightfully so. I think that this set of principles is both true and so subconsciously held that we know when a name “feels” right even if we can’t explain exactly why.
My background is in medical laboratory science. I so wish I could have taken a linguistics class as I found this so interesting! Thank you!
I’m glad you enjoyed it! I also used to wish I had taken some linguistics classes. I never did, and I came to this line of work in a roundabout way, thanks to my father, whose linguistics capacities are off the charts. It paid the bills quite well for a number of years but I’m glad to spend my time on fiction now instead. :)
Kristin, this was such a fun read. I took a linguistic class in college and it was so fascinating to learn about the similarities of sounds used for the same things in different and completely unrelated languages. That’s why it can be incongruous when you meet someone who doesn’t fit their name. My mother named the first three children and they all have a feminine quality, whereas my father named me (a masculine name, though it’s feminized with the “ah” sound at the end). And there’s a greater trend of parents naming their girls with traditional boys’ names. Also, because I sing in 3 choirs, we spend a lot of time dissecting sound. Something I learned is that beauty comes from the vowels but the emotion from the consonants. It makes so much more sense after reading your essay. Thank you.
I love that idea: “beauty comes from the vowels but the emotion from the consonants.” Yes, music and poetry both make good use of these principles.
I am also fascinated by multiple unrelated languages having similar words for things. I went down a rabbit hole about the word for “mother” across All The Languages but ended up leaving it out for brevity’s sake.
And I agree on the mismatched names. Authors can use it to comic ends, as William Goldman does so well in The Princess Bride, but if we want to be more subtle about it, these principles can steer us toward suitable names.
So interesting. I have fallen in love with the names of my characters…and now wonder if those names are fitting for their places in the world. Thanks.
As flippant as the title to this post may be, I do believe that once a name is firmly established in association with a person/place/company, the phonetics matter a lot less. Microsoft, for instance, is not a strong name on the face of it: the name is literally made of words that mean small and weak. The company did just fine, though, on the strength of other associations and on the strength of their products. Phonetic symbolism is useful as a shortcut — a kind of subconscious “tell” when you don’t want to take up the word count to “show.” As Vijaya mentioned, though, sound does play an important role in the musicality of our language and we do well to make use of it when we can.
You know, I bet there’s a lot of work that wise naming can do for word of mouth. Not a wholly determining factor, but think about when you’re trying to recommend a book or even just talk about it with a non-initiate in the room. The feel and stickiness of both names and briefly phrased anecdotal experiences from stories definitely influence on how those conversations go.
I agree. The plosives have been shown to make a word (name, phrase, book title) more sticky, and that could be helpful in marketing a new book. The overall quality of the book will be what makes it continue to sell, but just getting a foot in the door seems so difficult that any little trick is welcome.
I love this post, Kristin! I hadn’t heard of sound symbolism, but for many years I had a daily twitter I called #poetswords where I explored a single word, considering not just its meaning, but also its connotations, etymology and *sounds*. I also explored the way our mind dredges up resonances: similar-sounding words that add a subtle echo of meaning (e.g., salvage might call up an echo of savage or scavange). Then on Sunday I would tweet a haiku using some of the week’s words.
I have also for several years been teaching a workshop I developed for poets around this topic. Thank you for the further resources!
Your twitter topic sounds fascinating! I’d love to see what your wrote. Is any of it still available?