Maia asks her mother why she doesn’t have her mother’s name if her brother is going to have his father’s. ‘Gordon’ has been passed down through the generations of men in her husband’s family. A tradition that is supposed to continue.
But Cora, the mother, thinks otherwise about the name Gordon. Her husband is a domineering bully who physically and mentally abuses her. If she names their son Gordon, she is afraid he will he become his father. Maia wants to name him Bear and Cora wants to name him Julian. These two names, including Gordon, are what give this novel its wonderful narrative structure. The narrative is split into three parallel worlds. Worlds that are ultimately the same and yet drastically different, depending on the name the son is given.
The narrative covers 35 years of the three divergent worlds. The story progresses from the perspective of the son, the mother and sister in each of the worlds. After three chapters, one for each of the ‘names’, the narrative will jump forward seven years and repeat this sequence. The differences that the change of names causes is vast, and yet at their core the characters remain the same.
The one character who changes little in each of the worlds is the father, Gordon. A despicable man, who presents himself as a pillar of the community, a trusted and almost loved family GP. But behind closed doors he is a monster who controls and dominates his wife. This domestic abuse is the main theme explored, and it is a sickening problem that plagues our society.
Blake Crouch’s Dark Matter is the obvious book that springs to mind for comparison, or Paul Auster’s 4 3 2 1. Three worlds changed from a moment in time when a name is registered.
The Names is beautifully written, with characters that tear at your emotions. A brilliant book.
Reviewed by Neale Lucas
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I live just outside London with my husband, our dog, and sometimes one (or two) of our now-adult children.
Some of my favourite things are: words, photo booths, old tiles, rain, long phone calls, clothing with pockets, book covers, dimples (I don’t have any of my own, but I covet the cheeks of those who do), houses lit up at night, the word eiderdown, notebooks, kaleidoscopes, homemade soup, Italy, taking photos, book chat, hummus, barre, house plants, a thick duvet with wool blankets piled on top, hand-stitching, making lists.
I’m less keen on condiment bottles, driving on motorways, and socks where the heel slips down.
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