Names and Fame

     When I first was offered my publishing contract my husband asked me if I was going use a pseudonym.  “No,” I said.  “I’ll use my  own name.  I’m happy to have it  attached to my novel.”  Then he  asked me if I meant my married name or my maiden name.   “Oh, Kristin Gleeson,” I said.   “It works well and it’s easier to spell.”  All the years growing up struggling to  get both names spelled right went into that statement.  

     With a name like Kristin Brownsey, when people asked me what I was called  when filling in forms or any kind of official capacity, I automatically launched  into spelling it and watched them with great amusement as they continued to  type/write “Christine”and then hesitate with the second name. 
“Brown with an S E Y added on the end,” I’d say in a helpful tone.  The results would be more creative.  “Blownski,” “Brownski” and “Bownsky” were the most common.   My first name, if it didn’t meet with the more usual “Christine”result  was put into Kirstie, Kirsten or even Kisten.  At one point I remember receiving three  copies of a wholesale book catalogue on a regular basis with three different  spellings of my first and last name.  
 
In most cases it really doesn’t matter in the long run, except if you run into job’s worth officials. “That’s not you,” I’ve been told. “No really,” I say.   “That’s me, they just spelled my name wrong.”   “No, I’m sorry, but the name has to match exactly.”   Sigh.  
  
I liked my name growing up (well for the most part),  though no one had heard of it, that is until Kristin shot J.R. in the TV  programme Dallas in 1981. My mother named me after the character, Kristin Lavrensdotter, in Sigrid Undsett’s nobel prize trilogy published in the 1920s.  Determined to have the name  “Kristin” she even phoned up the Norwegian embassy to see what the boy’s  equivalent would be (or so she said).  The surprised embassy official made a brief check and then told her,  “Kristen.”  Now whether this is
true or not, I don’t know, but it made me determined to retain the “i” in my
name. 

When I came to Ireland I realized my issues were nothing compared to someone who spelled their name as gaelge (in Irish), especially women.  The women could choose to  retain their maiden name and put “ní” with it, as in my friend, “ní Laoghaire” (daughter of Leary) or they could go with the married form, and put “uí”with it,  as it would be in my case, “Kristin Uí Ghliosáin.”    But spelling your name to someone not familiar with these many Irish  permutations can be a nightmare, as any Irish woman spending some time in America, the U.K., or anywhere else for that matter, can testify.  Passport and birth certificates sometimes leave no choice, for good or  ill. 

Yesterday a friend emailed me the link to the amazon page  in the U.K. that is selling my book.   Yeah! I thought.  Another  milestone.  Then I saw the
spelling.  Ha! They spelled it  wrong.  Kristen.  What!  Sod’s law.  I should have expected it, but  sometimes, after a spell of no problems you forget. 
And now, with the name almost common, I really have relaxed  vigilance.   I contacted the publisher and she assured me that it would be set right, eventually. 
 
In a calm of trying to make lemons out of lemonade, I  thought perhaps that it might set me highest on the google search machine when googling my name.  At the moment a  woman named Kristin Gleeson from New Jersey who was on some crash diet programme  to lose massive amounts of weight is rated in the top google search.   When, out of curiosity, I went into it to see what she looks like I found  that I had to sign up to read further.   Years ago when I googled my name  there was a mime artist? from New Jersey who had my name.   Could this be her I speculated?  Does a career in mime (miming?)  carry hazards of obesity?   So maybe I am glad for that “e.” 
I wouldn’t want to be confused with an overweight mime artist from New
Jersey.  
 
On a connected matter, many of you know that I’ve written a popular biography of a Canadian Indian woman, Anahareo (see her page on  website).  I’ve been trying to get  the biography published and have run into various issues.   One publisher sent it out to reader who, clearly at odds with Grey Owl,  said “the most interesting aspect of Anahareo is that she was so sexy.”  Forget that she was a prospector,  trapper, dog musher, and early advocate of wilderness and wild animal  preservation.  No she is sexy.   An academic publisher encouraged me to submit the manuscript for consideration in their special popular series  called “Voices.”  Unfortunately
after revising it thoroughly to simplify it and include many direct quotes, they  turned it down because Anahareo wasn’t ordinary enough.   They wanted ordinary people.  
 
In some ways this is true, Anahareo was an extraordinary woman who enjoyed a few years of celebrity. But the essence of her voice, especially
after that fame disappeared is representative of many of the struggles First
Nations women in Canada (and the U.S.) faced in the twentieth century and, in  some ways still face today.

Now I don’t imagine I will be enjoying the kind of  celebrity Anahareo did in the 1930s, and I’m sure my name will continue to be  spelled in all variety of manners, but my voice has been heard in many ways that  hers never was.  What does an “i”  matter in that light.