Ever wonder why some names just stick in your head? It’s a weird thing. You hear "Aslan" and you immediately think of something massive, golden, and maybe a little bit terrifying. That wasn't an accident. C.S. Lewis was a linguist at heart, a man who lived and breathed medieval literature and ancient languages. When he sat down to map out the chronicles of narnia character names, he wasn't just pulling cool sounds out of thin air. He was digging through Turkish roots, Greek myths, and Old English history to find syllables that felt like they had weight.
Narnia isn't just a place. It’s a linguistic jigsaw puzzle.
Take the Pevensies. Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. They sound like kids you’d meet in a 1940s London train station because, well, they were. But look closer at "Aslan." Lewis literally took the Turkish word for "lion." Simple? Yeah. Effective? Absolutely. It’s got that sibilant "s" that sounds like a breath and a heavy "n" that grounds it. It feels ancient. It feels right.
The Pevensie Four and the Logic of the Ordinary
Names ground a story. If Lewis had named the kids Xylanthia and Zorphon, the Wardrobe wouldn't have felt like a gateway from our world; it would’ve felt like a fever dream. By choosing incredibly grounded, almost "boring" British names, he created a contrast.
Peter is the "Rock." That’s the Greek Petros. It’s biblical, sure, but it also signals his role as the High King who has to be the foundation for the rest of them. Then you’ve got Edmund. Honestly, Edmund is a fascinating choice. It’s an Old English name meaning "prosperous protector." In the beginning of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, he’s the furthest thing from a protector. He’s a traitor for some Turkish Delight. The name acts as a foreshadowing of the man he becomes in The Horse and His Boy—a wise, steady leader.
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Susan and Lucy: The Grace and the Light
Susan comes from the Hebrew Shoshannah, meaning "lily." It’s soft. It’s feminine in a traditional sense, which fits her character's eventual (and controversial) shift toward "nylons and lipstick." Lucy, on the other hand, is all about the Lux. Light. She’s the first one to see Narnia. She’s the one who sees Aslan when the others are blind to him. Her name is her destiny. She is the moral compass, the one who illuminates the path when things get dark in the woods.
Where the Mythological Meet the Invented
Lewis didn't stop at the humans. The chronicles of narnia character names for the creatures are where he really let his academic nerd flag fly.
Mr. Tumnus is a classic example. He’s a faun. His name feels Latinate, echoing words like tumult or perhaps hinting at the rolling hills (tumni) of a pastoral landscape. It sounds friendly but slightly "other." Then you have the White Witch, Jadis. Some scholars point to the Persian jadu, which means "witch." Others look at the French jadis, meaning "of old" or "formerly." Both work. She is an ancient evil, a "formerly" great queen of a dead world (Charn) who brought her coldness to Narnia.
Reepicheep and the Onomatopoeia of Bravery
You can’t talk about Narnia without the mouse. Reepicheep. Just say it out loud. It sounds like a sword being drawn—reep—and the scurry of tiny feet—cheep. It’s a name that manages to be adorable and intimidating at the same time. Lewis was a master of this kind of "sound symbolism." He wanted you to hear the character before you even saw the illustration.
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Then there’s Puddleglum. The Marsh-wiggle. The name is a literal compound of his environment and his personality. He lives in a puddle; he is glum. It’s not subtle. Lewis wasn't always trying to be deep; sometimes he just wanted to be funny. Marsh-wiggles themselves have names like Ishbool or Chirpy (which is ironic), but Puddleglum remains the gold standard for descriptive naming in 20th-century fantasy.
The Deeper Etymology of the Villains
Villains need names that feel sharp. "Miraz" from Prince Caspian sounds harsh, like a blade or a desert mirage. It lacks the vowels that make names like "Lucy" feel open and trustworthy.
In The Silver Chair, we meet the Lady of the Green Kirtle. She doesn't even get a proper name for most of the book. This is a common trope in folklore—names have power. By withholding her name, Lewis makes her more dangerous. She’s an abstraction of temptation. When we look at the chronicles of narnia character names of the antagonists, they often feel "un-English." They are "othered" through their phonetics. The Calormenes, like Tash or Rishda Tarkaan, have names with hard consonants—sh, rk, t—that Lewis used to create a cultural distance from the "Northern" feel of Narnia.
The Problem of Susan and the Name "Friend of Narnia"
There’s a heavy moment in The Last Battle where Susan is no longer "a friend of Narnia." Her name is effectively removed from the roll call of heroes. This is a huge deal in the internal logic of the series. To Lewis, your name was tied to your soul. If you lost your way, you lost your "Narnian" identity. The remaining Pevensies, along with Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole, retain their titles.
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Speaking of Eustace Clarence Scrubb. Lewis famously wrote, "and he almost deserved it." It’s a hilarious, petty opening line. The name "Eustace" sounded posh and annoying to a 1950s British audience. "Scrubb" sounds, well, scrubby. It’s a name that starts in the gutter and has to work its way up to something noble. By the time he’s a dragon and then a boy again, the name Eustace doesn't sound like a joke anymore; it sounds like a redemption story.
Practical Takeaways for Naming Your Own Characters
If you’re a writer or just a giant nerd for Tolkien and Lewis, there’s a lot to learn from how these names were built. It wasn't random.
- Phonetic Symbolism: Use "front vowels" (like the 'ee' in Reepicheep) for small, fast, or bright things. Use "back vowels" (like the 'u' in Puddleglum or 'a' in Aslan) for things that are heavy, slow, or powerful.
- Root Stealing: Don't be afraid to go to the dictionary. If you need a name for a king, look at old Gothic or Sumerian roots. Lewis used Turkish for a lion; you can use Old Norse for a mountain giant.
- Contrast is Key: If your world is magical, give your "viewer" characters (the ones the audience identifies with) normal names. It anchors the fantasy.
- The "Deserved It" Rule: Use names to set expectations. If a character is a brat, give them a name that sounds slightly pinched or overly formal.
The chronicles of narnia character names work because they feel like they’ve always existed. They don't feel "written"; they feel discovered. Whether it's the regal thrum of Caspian or the clattering, rocky sound of Trumpkin the Dwarf, Lewis understood that a name is the first spell you cast on a reader.
To really appreciate these, go back and read the descriptions of the characters' first appearances. Notice how the sound of the name matches the sound of their voice or the way they walk. You'll see that Lewis wasn't just telling a story; he was composing a symphony of syllables. If you're looking to name something yourself—a pet, a fictional hero, or even a brand—try the "Aslan Test." Does the word carry the weight of the thing it represents? If not, keep digging into those old dictionaries.
The best names are the ones that feel like a secret you're finally being told. Lewis was great at keeping those secrets until the very last page. For more insight into the linguistic world of mid-century fantasy, looking into the Inklings—the writing group Lewis shared with J.R.R. Tolkien—reveals just how much these two giants influenced each other's naming conventions, from the phonemes of Middle-earth to the snowy woods of Narnia.