What's in a name?
My sister and I will be the last to bear our father's family name. Either we'll get married and take on our husband's name, or we'll keep our names and simply die. I suppose we could try to pass them on to our kids in lieu of our husbands' names, but that never seems to work. While Pikul certainly isn't the most musical or catchy of surnames, the realization that I bear the responsibility for its imminent demise still makes me sad. My father has never said anything about it, but I know it bums him out, too. Fortunately for my mother, her family name carries on with her brother, and his son, and so on.
That's why I was so intrigued to learn about the Icelandic naming system on a recent trip to Iceland. Icelanders' names are constructed using the patronymic system, which means that a person receives a Christian name from their parents, and then their surname is made by taking one of their parents' Christian names and adding the suffix of dóttir (for a girl) or son (for a boy). Traditionally, the root of the surname comes from dad's first name. So, if I were an Icelander, my name would be Corrie Ronsdóttir (Ron is my father's name). If I had a brother named Ryan (my mom has always said she likes that name), then his name would be Ryan Ronsson. I read that this naming system used to be common in all Scandinavian countries, but Iceland is the only one that continues to use it.
It's becoming increasingly common to use the mother's name as the root of the surname instead of the father's. This is due to several factors, one of which is that having a child out of wedlock carries less of a stigma in Iceland than it does here in the US, so there are more single mothers. In other cases, a mother may wish to end ties with the father. I've also heard that some spunky Icelandic feminists use this system as a social statement.
Since most Icelandic men have a last name ending in "son," and most women's names end with "dóttir," it could get tricky trying to remember who's who. That's why most Icelanders go by their full name or their first name, and the phone directories are organized alphabetically by first names. In speech, it's common to address people (formally as well as socially) by just their first name. Even the prime minister is addressed in meetings by his first name. So Björk, Iceland's most famous export, isn't trying to be an egomaniac by dropping her last name; she's just following Icelandic custom.
There are a few Icelanders who still have family names dating back to when the country was first settled, but they're rarely used, and the government is actually trying to do away with these altogether. Icelandic citizens are not currently allowed to take on a new family name – nor are they allowed to adopt the family name of their spouse.
I like the idea of extending the concept of family to all of the country's daughters, not just to those born to a particular set of parents. If I were an Icelander, I would have been introduced to the world as Ron's daughter, but I'd have been free to create the person to be known as Corrie through my actions and accomplishments. And I'd be able to hold onto my individuality throughout my life. Retaining my full name (and thus my identity) would also make marriage seem less like an act of shedding my old self, and more of a creating something new and distinct – specifically, a partnership, or perhaps a child with my husband's name as its roots, and its own unique first name and identity.
Sounds like a good system to me.