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The extraordinary novel that asks: Can a name change the course of a life?
In the wake of a catastrophic storm, Cora sets off with her nine-year-old daughter, Maia, to register her son's birth. Her husband, Gordon, a local doctor, respected in the community but a terrifying and controlling presence at home, intends for her to name the infant after him. But when the registrar asks what she'd like to call the child, Cora hesitates...
Spanning thirty-five years, what follows are three alternate and alternating versions of Cora's and her young son's lives, shaped by her choice of name. In richly layered prose, The Names explores the painful ripple effects of domestic abuse, the messy ties of family, and the possibilities of autonomy and healing.
With exceptional sensitivity and depth, Knapp draws us into the story of one family, told through a prism of what-ifs, causing us to consider the "one ... precious life" we are given. The book's brilliantly imaginative structure, propulsive storytelling, and emotional, gut-wrenching power are certain to make The Names a modern classic.
Prologue
October 1987
Cora's mother always used to say children were whipped up by the wind, that even the quiet ones would come in after playtime made wild by it. Cora feels it in herself now, that restlessness. Outside, gusts lever at the fir trees behind the house and burst down the side passage to hurl themselves at the gate. Inside, too, worries skitter and eddy. Because tomorrow—if morning comes, if the storm stops raging—Cora will register the name of her son. Or perhaps, and this is her real concern, she'll formalize who he will become.
Cora has never liked the name Gordon. The way it starts with a splintering sound that makes her think of cracked boiled sweets, and then ends with a thud like someone slamming down a sports bag. Gordon. But what disturbs her more is that she must now pour the goodness of her son into its mold, hoping he'll be strong enough to find his own shape within it. Because Gordon is a name passed down through the men in her husband's family, and it seems impossible it could be any other way. But this doesn't stop her arguing back and forth with herself, considering all the times she's felt a person's name might have influenced the course of their life. Amelia Earhart. The Lumière brothers. Only last week, she'd noticed a book on her husband's bedside table, Clinical Neurology by Lord Walter Russell Brain.
"Doesn't that strike you as odd?" she'd asked.
"Coincidence," Gordon had replied. "Although you wouldn't believe the number of urologists called Burns, Cox, and Ball. And, actually, Mr. Legg is pretty common in orthopedics."
Do you not see the risk? she'd wanted to say. Do you not see that calling our son Gordon might mean he ends up like you? But she couldn't. Because surely that was the point.
She rests the crook of a bent finger against the warmth of the baby's cheek as though his skin might transmit some vital message. Of what he wants. Of who he might be. But before anything can be divined, something crashes against the back wall of the house—a sound both heard and felt. She draws the baby closer as the security light flickers on outside, illuminating the roiling silhouettes of the firs. Vast and looming, then receding, before being made large again. She hears Gordon emerge from the next room and belt down the stairs, pictures him striding pajamaed across the dark of the living room toward the patio doors, then standing in the spotlight, squinting without his contact lenses, trying to determine what's out of place. She imagines him reduced by the looming threat of the trees, the immensity of the storm.
A few minutes later he opens the door to the nursery, and Cora feels a draft of cold air, as though it's attached itself to his clothing and followed him up the stairs. "It was just the watering can," he says. "Come back to bed now."
* * *
Trees lean at odd angles. Flattened fence panels leave gaping invitations into back gardens. A rotary washing line lies collapsed across the pavement. A few doors up, a man's shirt is caught on a privet hedge, pegs still pinched at its shoulders. Maia's eyes flit about, their town suddenly a spot-the-difference puzzle.
They walk along the edge of the common, steering the pram around fallen branches, stopping to look at an oak's vast, wormy rootball, dripping with clods of mud. Maia crouches in the hollow beneath. "Careful not to get your coat dirty," Cora says. His words. Her own instinct is to encourage Maia to lie down, to breathe in the rich, musky scent of the earth, to imagine herself as a fox cub curled up nose to tail. She's nine, on the cusp of being too old to want to do these things.
Maia clambers out and dusts off her coat. At the zebra crossing, where the amber globe of a Belisha beacon lies decapitated beside the road, they wait for the cars to stop. Maia looks toward the pram and says, "Why don't I have your name, if he'll have Dad's?"
Cora raises a hand to thank a driver. "Ah, but you do. It's just something no ...
Excerpted from The Names by Florence Knapp. Copyright © 2025 by Florence Knapp. Excerpted by permission of Pamela Dorman Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Please be aware that this discussion guide will contain spoilers!
Unless otherwise stated, this discussion guide is reprinted with the permission of Pamela Dorman Books. Any page references refer to a USA edition of the book, usually the trade paperback version, and may vary in other editions.
The prologue of Florence Knapp's marvelous debut, The Names, begins on October 16, 1987, the day after the Great Storm hit England. We meet Cora, a young woman of Irish descent, as she and her nine-year-old daughter, Maia, push a pram through the debris, walking to a government office to officially register her new son's name. As the pair struggle along, they discuss what the child should be called. The baby's father, a well-respected physician, expects him to be named Gordon after himself and his son's grandfather. Cora's husband is abusive, however, as was his father, and she has unvoiced concerns that calling her son Gordon will perpetuate that "family tradition" as well. (She thinks to herself, "Do you not see that calling our son Gordon might mean he ends up like you?") Cora would prefer the name Julian, while Maia thinks Bear would be a wonderful name ("It sounds all soft and cuddly and kind ... But also, brave and strong.")
The section ends with Cora hesitating as she's about to fill in the baby's name on the paperwork. At that point, the plot splits into three parallel storylines, each of which follows the repercussions of Cora's choice. After we get an insight into each set of lives—Bear's family, Julian's, and finally Gordon's—the narrative skips ahead in seven-year chunks, revisiting the characters until Bear/Julian/Gordon turns 35.
The idea that one minor decision can influence the trajectory of someone's life is not new (there's even a fiction sub-genre called "sliding-door novels," named after a movie starring Gwyneth Paltrow that explored the notion). Knapp's treatment of this concept, however, is remarkable. She postulates that Cora's selection changes not only her son's future but also that of each member of the family, which in turn impacts those around them in a far-reaching web. Her husband's reaction to each name, in particular, sends each timeline careening in a wildly different direction.
Some aspects of the characters' lives are constant across all three stories, but even these traits differ depending on which name was chosen; Maia is gay in each, but she's strong and confident in one timeline, unsure of her sexuality in another, and completely closeted in the third. Part of what makes the novel so unputdownable is that many of the characters' actions are unpredictable, yet completely logical; we can see why each makes the decisions that they do, even if the choices surprise us.
Supporting characters add nuance, appearing in each tale to a greater or lesser degree depending on the direction their plot has taken (e.g., in one, Cora's mother is hugely influential, while in another she's barely mentioned). Although the cast is fairly large, no character is superfluous; each fills a vital role with his or her presence (or lack thereof) and all are drawn with impressive depth.
In addition to simply being a fascinating thought experiment—an exploration of "what if"— each storyline is engrossing in its own right. The book is almost like three exceptionally well-written novellas. Readers get wrapped up in the drama of whether Bear's romantic relationship will work out and if Julian will ever find his niche, for example.
One of the narrative's constants is that Cora is physically abused in all of the plotlines, and in some instances Knapp's descriptions are hard to read. It's particularly wrenching as readers watch the character overcome her circumstances in one story but not in the others; we grieve for her all the more because we've seen exactly what her life could have been like.
My only caveat is that due to the book's structure it's easy to confuse the three timelines. There's a Gordon, Cora, and Maia in each, but they're completely different characters with varying experiences depending on whether we're reading the chapter about Bear, Julian, or Gordon. Several times I had to stop and try to recall who was who, and about halfway through I started wishing I'd kept notes on the characters. This isn't a flaw in the author's technique, since given the parallel timelines there's really no avoiding this issue, but readers should be aware that this book may require more concentration than some.
I've been fortunate to have read many truly excellent books this year, but The Names has risen to the top of my list. I was awed by the author's technical prowess in creating such a unique, captivating novel, and surprised at how much I thoroughly enjoyed the plot and the characters. I highly recommend it to late-teen audiences and above, and I think that it would spark some great book group discussions as well.
Reviewed by Kim Kovacs
Alison Espach, New York Times bestselling author of The Wedding People
Ann Napolitano, New York Times bestselling author of Hello Beautiful
Miranda Cowley Heller, New York Times bestselling author of The Paper Palace
Rated 5 out of 5
by labmom55
Difficult to listen to but worth it
I’ll be honest, The Names was a horribly difficult book to listen to. I can’t count the number of times a scene would just make me moan in sadness. The story tracks three different outcomes from a woman choosing the name of her newborn son. Cora’s husband, Gordon, is a well respected doctor. But at home, it’s a different story and he abuses her. He has told her to register their son’s name as Gordon following the family tradition. But in the first two story loops, she chooses a different name. In the third, she obeys her husband. The book tracks the three alternative stories across the following 35 years. Surprisingly. I was equally invested in each story arc. Despite the initial darkness, the good news is that in the end, there’s hope.
What struck me most is how spousal abuse just doesn’t affect the one actually suffering the abuse. Everyone is impacted. In different storylines, the character may be different but each was heartbreaking. The book continued to catch me off guard, even as the years passed. Knapp did a great job of impressing how a major event in one life was just something to be mentioned in another. And how someone who is a major figure for one is just a passing acquaintance for another.
As someone who changed her name at age 18, I truly understand the importance a name has on one’s sense of self. Knapp takes this idea to its ultimate conclusion. The story begs to be a book club selection as there’s so much to discuss. I listened to this and Dervla Kirwan was a fabulous narrator.
Big trigger warning - there are many graphic scenes of domestic abuse, both physical and mental.
Rated 5 out of 5
by Maureen_Connolly
Amazing Debut
This is a beautiful debut novel. The premise of this book is can a name define who you will be?
Have you ever judged a person by a name? Maybe you knew someone by that name and didn’t like them.
What is in a name? We are going to find out.
Cora is abused wife and sets out to register new newborn son. She is told by her husband that his name is to be Gordon, named after himself. But what if Cora wants to name him something else? Cora doesn’t want to name her son Gordon, She likes the name Julian. Her daughter Miaia likes the name Bear like a soft cuddly bear.
This book spans 35 years with three alternate names and versions of their lives. Each has different outcome.
It is a very unique book beautifully written. Each chapter is written about her son with a different name and time period.
A real thought provoking book. Highly recommended.
Rated 5 out of 5
by jillg
A Compelling Debut
THE NAMES
By Florence Knapp
Florence Knapp’s debut novel, opens in 1987 with Cora Atkin, a young mother trapped in an abusive marriage. As she is preparing to register her newborn son’s name, she faces pressure from her husband, Gordon, to name the baby after him. Instead, she contemplates two alternative names that represent different hopes she holds for her child. That single decision becomes the foundation for three parallel versions of the same child’s life.
The effects of domestic abuse lie at the heart of all three narratives. Spanning 35 years, the novel illustrates how a single choice can alter the course of multiple lives. The novel portrays not only the physical and emotional impact of domestic abuse but also the possibility of resilience and healing.
I was impressed that this is a debut; Knapp’s writing is skillfully crafted and emotionally engaging. This is a deeply character-driven story with strong emphasis on family dynamics. While the novel does explore domestic abuse, the subject is handled with sensitivity—more focused on the effects and the resilience that follows than on graphic scenes. I tend to gravitate toward debut novels, and this was an excellent one. It would make a great choice for book clubs.
Rated 5 out of 5
by Ann_Beman
One family, three alternate versions of their lives
One family, three alternate versions of what 35 years in their lives might be like. Cora's newborn needs a name, and her husband expects (commands) her to stroller downtown to the registrar and register the baby as Gordon, which is his name and his father's name. But Cora likes the name Julien. And their 9-year-old daughter Maia prefers Bear.
So the novel narrates between the three possible timelines that result from the consequences of Cora's three different choices of name. And since Cora's husband is a respected local physician by day and a controlling, violent monster by night, the three choices have very different consequences.
Domestic abuse and other rough emotional terrain gave me pause, but the novel's sliding-doors structure and its rich, layered prose had me page-turning with few stops. Highly recommend.
Thanks to Pamela Dorman Books/Viking and NetGalley for an opportunity to read an advanced reader copy and share my opinion of this book.
Rated 5 out of 5
by BonnieMG
Stellar novel
Occasionally someone says, "you rate too many novels 5 stars." So I thought about this and attribute it to the following: 1) I am choosy about what I read and do my research so the odds are high it will have merit and be good; 2) as a lifelong voracious reader, I recognize and appreciate a novel that is compelling, well-written and says something new; and 3) what does a rating system even mean. Which brings me to The Names by Florence Knapp. This is truly an outstanding, compulsively readable, unique, five star read. Knapp offers us a sliding doors novel of three versions of one woman's life - but the sliding doors in this case is a name - how does a name - the 3 names Cora bestows on her newborn son in 3 different versions of her life - define someone and what happens to our life as a result? This book is harrowing - the 3 "lives" all deal with domestic abuse. But there is beauty in the horror and an understanding of what it means to have a life well lived despite the odds. The highest of recommendations.
Rated 4 out of 5
by Rachel Williams
Be aware
I thought the idea behind this book was great and I do try not to read too much about the plot so that it can be a surprise. Although well written I had to abandon it halfway through because it was too upsetting. I thought "why couldn't one of the names bring about a happy story?" but then I realized that was impossible because the father was abusive so there would be no happy story. I gave it up because it upset me to remember the hard times I have had in my relationships, being tricked into feeling love, feeling secure but it was all a trick. I know some people love this type of tale but not me. Be aware.
Rated 3 out of 5
by Amy_A
Interesting
3 stories intertwined, an interesting way to write a novel. I actually had to restart the book as I couldn't quite figure it out in the beginning. Otherwise, I felt the book to be predictable and a bit maudlin.
In a key scene in Florence Knapp's novel The Names, two characters are in an art gallery viewing an exhibition. The author writes:
"They stop in front of a hideous image, a painting on loan from a gallery in Madrid. It shows a naked man, frenzied and wild-eyed, consuming a smaller figure, its bloodied, headless body clasped between his hands."
The work in question is entitled Saturn Devouring His Son and is by Spanish artist Francisco Goya (1746–1828), and it's one of 14 referred to as his Black Paintings (Pinturas negras).
Goya was a very successful artist and a court painter to two Spanish kings, credited with creating over 600 artworks during his lifetime. In 1792, his health began to decline; he started experiencing hallucinations, vertigo, hearing and speech impairment, and even fell into a coma for a time. Although not proven conclusively, it's thought his illness was likely due to lead poisoning brought on by excessive use of the metal in his white paint, which he mixed himself. In addition to the obvious and permanent physical symptoms, his work changed abruptly around this time, from courtly portraits to dark, disturbing images.
In 1819, as his health continued to deteriorate, Goya purchased an isolated estate on the outskirts of Madrid. He became reclusive and began painting grotesque images directly on the plaster walls of his home. The 14 works he ultimately completed from 1820 to 1823 are referred to as the Black Paintings both because of their preponderance of dark colors and their bleak, surreal subject matter.
No one's really sure what the artist intended with these images, although after his death sketches were found that seemed to indicate the works may have been a cycle laid out to a specific plan. Goya didn't give them names; in fact, it's believed that he never wrote or spoke about them at all. A few art historians speculate that the works aren't Goya's precisely because he made no reference to them (most scholars disagree).
In 1823 Goya donated the property to his 17-year-old grandson and departed Spain for Bordeaux, France, where he lived out the remainder of his life. The estate was left to deteriorate until purchased by Baron Frédéric-Emil d'Erlanger in 1873. Understanding the cultural value of the murals, their new owner had the paintings transferred from the building's walls to canvas, exhibiting them in 1878 at the International Exposition in Paris.
A technique known as "strappo" was used to preserve the pieces. A thin cloth is placed over the artwork and glue is brushed over it. This process is repeated many times before the covered art is left to dry. The top layer of the plaster—which hosts the painted image—is then carefully separated from the rest of the wall; the cloth holds the fragile medium together, thereby preserving the artwork. Excess plaster is removed, and then the same glueing procedure is used on the back of the now detached mural. The next step is to remove the cloth from the front of the painting one layer at a time, using hot water to melt the adhesive. The resulting painted layer of plaster can then be mounted on another medium, such as canvas. (See this YouTube video for a demonstration of this technique.)
The process wasn't foolproof, and Goya's paintings suffered significant damage. They were further harmed by their transfer to Paris and then back to Madrid. Frenchman Jean Laurent took photographs of the Black Paintings in 1873 before the strappo process was begun, and it's evident that the procedure changed them. Many paintings lost details (e.g., candles in one painting, a dog in another) and all experienced a muting of the colors Goya originally employed.
The Black Paintings remain permanently housed in Madrid's Prado Museum, which was visited by nearly 3.5 million people in 2024. Although no restoration efforts are currently underway, in 2014 Factum Arte was hired to digitize the works, creating high-resolution, 3-D images that are being used to bring new understanding to these remarkable pieces and their creator.
Francisco Goya, Saturn Devouring His Son, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Filed under Music and the Arts
By Kim Kovacs
One woman, the performance of a lifetime. Or two. An exhilarating, destabilizing Möbius strip of a novel that asks whether we ever really know the people we love.
A deeply moving novel about a woman who thought she never wanted to be a mother--and the many ways that life can surprise us.
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