note a) from wannabe writer big sister Xanthe:
the year 1976 has been amended to 1975 for accuracy.
note b) from same:
my same age cousin was named Jennifer.
note c) from same:
I would have been happy being a Biba.
My friend Ben recently reminded me of Janet Malcolm's classic book The Journalist and the Murderer, and I have finally gotten around to reading it.I have always avoided journalism because I felt I could never keep myself out of a story for long enough to talk about anyone or anything else. My friends who are journalists possess an entirely different state of mind, a craving for stories and excitement that motivates them to stand on cold streets at 5am in the morning to do stake-outs, or to write obituary columns for years in order to work their way up into the newsroom, or to work really hard on human stories, stories they believe in. I learned many years ago that I can't write about anything I don't care about, and basically, the evidence suggests I care mostly about me.
But in an inspired and outrageous bout of investigative journalism, triggered by Malcolm's brilliant example, I have turned my hand to the art of the journalistic interview.The interview subjects? My very own parents, currently visiting me in New York.The investigation? To find the answer to a question that friends over the years have asked and which I never know quite how to answer: HOW DID MY PARENTS COME UP WITH SUCH FREAKISH (and yet totally brilliant) NAMES FOR THEIR FOUR CHILDREN?Following is a transcript of the interview, written from memory, and with some bits made up. Completely unjournalistic, but I decided to start my ambitions small and work my way up to the truth from fiction over perhaps a number of decades. I think the results of my trial-in-the-kitchen-by-pizza-and-wine speak for themselves.
ME: So, Mum. Dad. I've invited you all the way here to New York to answer a few questions.
DAD: I thought we were here to see Spamalot.
ME: Au contraire, Dad. You are here to assist me in my investigations and help me solve a mystery that has plagued your offspring for years. Let's begin at the beginning, shall we? (shuffles notes and clears throat.)
ME: Now - you two started producing children in the far western Queensland desert shanty town of Emerald, Australia.
MUM: You make us sound like we were machines.
DAD: Emerald wasn't exactly a desert. We lived in a house, you know.
MUM: (looks at Dad) It was really hot though, you have to admit it Geoff.
ME: Ok, so we need to focus if we are going to get anywhere. The names under question are Xanthe, Analiese, Lorelei and Lachlan, and to a lesser extent, Eloise, Sophie, Vashti, and Raoul. Let's start with Xanthe, your first child, and surely the most freakish name of 1975. Mum?MUM: Well, I liked all the classic names, you know - Sarah and Emily.
DAD: And I hated them.
MUM: So we compromised.
ME: You compromised with XANTHE? Kind of an extreme compromise wouldn't you say?(Distracted - [note to self: possibly bored?] - silence as Dad pours more wine and Mum flicks through the New York Times.)
ME: (adjusts spectacles for greater acuity and dramatic hard-boiled investigator effect) Consider this if you will. The most popular name of 1975 for girls was Jennifer, and the tenth most popular was Nicole, so to any fair-minded adult, a decent 'compromise' might be more along the lines of the fifth most popular name, say for example - Lisa?
DAD: Oh, Nicole is a terrible name.
ME: I know, but what about Lisa?
DAD: (sniffs) Just as bad.
MUM: Do you like the name Lisa, Lorelei? A little banal for your tastes, I would have thought?ME: You can't interview the interviewer, Mum! For the record though, I hate it. But I'm intrigued - as a hard-hitting journalist - as to how two people living in a dead-end mining town in Queensland could have come up with such an amazing name as Xanthe. On the first try too.
MUM: Well, we just liked the name. We'd already called the dog Biba, so we called Xanthe Xanthe.
ME: Well how about this - (dramatic pause) Do you realise Xanthe is becoming quite a popular name?
MUM: A friend of mine's daughter has just called her daughter Xanthe, so yes, you do hear about it I suppose.
ME: Would you have called your daughter Xanthe if you knew that one day other people would be calling their daughters Xanthe too?
MUM: I'm sure people have been calling their daughters Xanthe for longer than we have.
ME: Well how did you decide on her middle name then?
MUM: (points to Dad) He chose Eloise.
ME: Hmm. Finally, a straight answer. And a nice choice too, Dad.
DAD: Thanks.
ME: Although admittedly a little straight-laced. Anyway, let's move on to ANALIESE then, shall we?
MUM: Well, that's easy, we both read a book and it had a character called Analiese in it, and we both liked the name.
DAD: But we spelt it wrong. The original, pure Austrian version should be Anneliese, but we couldn't remember it at the time.
ME: Oh my god. I thought you guys were cerebral intellectuals. How could you get the spelling wrong? It's embarrassing for me as both a daughter and an editor. And think of poor Analiese! The risk you ran with that spelling and the obviousness of having it adapted by cruel schoolchildren to Anal-ease is essentially unforgivable.
MUM: Oh, you are ridiculous. No one shortened her name to 'Anal-ease'. All of the names we gave you guys are nickname-proof. Except yours kind of rhyming with 'broccoli' of course.
ME: Well, my friend Caro was able to think up the nickname Anal-ease with very little difficulty. Anyway, moving on.
ME: (Issuing a hard, interrogative stare to serve with the accompanying pièce de résistance.) In the early nineties, Analiese started getting popular as a name too. Didn't it?
DAD: I think it's always been popular in Italy.
ME: JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION, DAD.
DAD: Well, you do see it around these days a bit more I guess.
MUM: (with vitriol) It was Annelise Seubert, that dark-haired model, who did it.
ME: Hmm. So, who chose Sophie as her middle name? A bit bland, wouldn't you say?
MUM: Well, I got to choose that one because he chose Xanthe's.(I shoot invisible filial bullets of blame in her direction.)
MUM: What?! I told you I liked the nice, classic names! And Sophie is a really beautiful name, I think.
ME: Well, as a journalist, I'm forced to be fair-minded and balanced, but I think readers will see the duplicity of your statement. Moving on. Now, LORELEI. Beyond question - a gorgeous name.
MUM: This is getting awfully tedious.
ME: (unrelenting in my hunger for the truth) So what's the story behind ME, MY NAME, the BEST NAME; an INSPIRED and GENIUS MONIKER that could only be conjured by LOOKING AT THE ANGELIC VISAGE of a GIFTED and WONDROUS BABY GIRL.DAD: We just got it out of a baby name book actually.
MUM: I mean, it's a very well-known name, there's all that mythology behind it, not to mention Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes ...
DAD: We wanted to switch it around and call you Vashti Lorelei ...
MUM: But after all the trouble we had with people pronouncing Xanthe, we weren't brave enough to use Vashti as a first name. So Lorelei it was.
ME: You honestly thought the Australian populace was going to have more trouble with Vashti than Lorelei?
MUM: I guess yes, we did.
ME: It's four vowels versus two! You guys must have been too intoxicated by my birth to think clearly.(Parents have begun washing dishes and shuffling newspapers.)
ME: So, to clarify - no archangels came down to tell you what name to bestow upon me?
DAD: Not that I recall, no.
ME: (making notes) Hmm, interesting. There are probably other witnesses who could discount your version of events, the doctor perhaps, but that's all I'll say. Thank you for your time guys, and I'm sorry I can't let you see a draft of the article before it's published. It's just not how I work though, and I doubt Truman Capote would have allowed it either.
DAD: What about Lachlan? You haven't asked about him?
ME: Oh, I've asked all the important questions.MUM: (wistfully) Oh, Lachy's such a gorgeous, sweet little kid.
ME: Mum, he's not a kid, he's nearly 25. And you do realise he wishes you named him Raoul instead of Lachlan?
DAD: I think Lachlan still holds up as a good, strong name.
ME: Maybe. But you do realise it is currently sitting at NUMBER THREE on the Most Popular Names for Boys list in Australia? How do you think that makes him feel?
MUM: (with vitriol) It's that damn Lockie Daddo that did it. (under her breath) Damn those Daddos.
This is how most of the discussions in our family ended during the mid- to late-nineties - with the phrase 'Damn those Daddos' - and it cheered me no end to hear it once again. And we all fell asleep that night dreaming about how different things might have turned out if all of us kids had sustained inexplicable but ongoing bad Australian television careers for the past fifteen to twenty years.
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