Family Surname Quotes

She sometimes wondered what her twenty-two-year-old self would think of today's Emma Mayhew. Would she consider her self-centered? Compromised? A bourgeois sell-out, with her appetite for home ownership and foreign travel, clothes from Paris and expensive haircuts? Would she find her conventional, with her new surname and hopes for a family life? Maybe, but then the twenty-two-year-old Emma Morley wasn't such a paragon either: pretentious, petulant, lazy, speechifying, judgmental. Self-pitying, self-righteous, self-important, all of the selfs except self-confident, the quality that she always needed most.

Ugh, don’t even get me started,” Tam grumbled. “Our real family name is supposed to be Tong. But my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother started calling herself Lady Song, and when she registered her daughter, she put that as the surname—and it’s been passed down ever since.

The phrase "the violent bear it away" fascinated the 20th century Irish-American storyteller Flannery O'Connor, who used it as the title of one of her novels. O'Connor's surname connects her to an Irish royal family descended from Conchobor (pronounced "Connor"), the prehistoric king of Ulster who was foster father to Cuchulainn and "husband" of the unwilling Derdriu. In the western world, the antiquity of Irish lineages is exceeded only by that of the Jews.

I cannot feel like a duchess in my mother’s sitting room.” “What do you feel like, then?” “Hmmm.” She took a sip of her tea. “Just Daphne Bridgerton, I suppose. It’s difficult to shed the surname in this clan. In spirit, that is.” “I hope that is a compliment,” Lady Bridgerton remarked. Daphne just smiled at her mother. “I shall never escape you, I’m afraid.” She turned to Gareth. “There is nothing like one’s family to make one feel like one has never grown up.

Put it on record --I am an Arab And the number of my card is fifty thousand I have eight children And the ninth is due after summer. What's there to be angry about? Put it on record. --I am an Arab Working with comrades of toil in a quarry. I have eight childern For them I wrest the loaf of bread, The clothes and exercise books From the rocks And beg for no alms at your doors, --Lower not myself at your doorstep. --What's there to be angry about? Put it on record. --I am an Arab. I am a name without a tide, Patient in a country where everything Lives in a whirlpool of anger. --My roots --Took hold before the birth of time --Before the burgeoning of the ages, --Before cypess and olive trees, --Before the proliferation of weeds. My father is from the family of the plough --Not from highborn nobles. And my grandfather was a peasant --Without line or genealogy. My house is a watchman's hut --Made of sticks and reeds. Does my status satisfy you? --I am a name without a surname. Put it on Record. --I am an Arab. Color of hair: jet black. Color of eyes: brown. My distinguishing features: --On my head the 'iqal cords over a keffiyeh --Scratching him who touches it. My address: --I'm from a village, remote, forgotten, --Its streets without name --And all its men in the fields and quarry. --What's there to be angry about? Put it on record. --I am an Arab. You stole my forefathers' vineyards --And land I used to till, --I and all my childern, --And you left us and all my grandchildren --Nothing but these rocks. --Will your government be taking them too --As is being said? So! --Put it on record at the top of page one: --I don't hate people, --I trespass on no one's property. And yet, if I were to become starved --I shall eat the flesh of my usurper. --Beware, beware of my starvation. --And of my anger!

McDonald's, meanwhile, continues busily to harass small shopkeepers and restaurateurs of Scottish descent for that nationality's uncompetitive predisposition toward the Mc prefix on its surnames. The company sued the McAl an's sausage stand in Denmark; the Scottish-themed sandwich shop McMunchies in Buckinghamshire; went after Elizabeth McCaughey's McCoffee shop in the San Francisco Bay Area; and waged a twenty-six-year battle against a man named Ronald McDonald whose McDonald's Family Restaurant in a tiny town in Il inois had been around since 1956.

Then she will marry the man whom she is currently trying to find both online and in real life, the man with the smile lines and the dog and/or cat, the man with an interesting surname that she can double-barrel with Jones, the man who earns the same as or more than her, the man who likes hugs more than sex and has nice shoes and beautiful skin and no tattoos and a lovely mum and attractive feet. The man who is at least five feet ten, but preferably five feet eleven or over. The man who has no baggage and a good car and a suggestion of abdominal definition although a flat stomach would suffice. This man has yet to materialize and Libby is aware that she is possibly a little over-proscriptive.

He mused on this village of his, which had sprung up in this place, amid the stones, like the gnarled undergrowth of the valley. All Artaud's inhabitants were inter-related, all bearing the same surname to such an extent that they used double-barrelled names from the cradle up, to distinguish one from another. At some antecedent date an ancestral Artaud had come like an outcast, to establish himself in this waste land. His family had grown with the savage vitality of the vegetation, drawing nourishment from this stone till it had become a tribe, then the tribe turned to a community, till they could not sort out their cousinage, going back for generations. They inter-married with unblushing promiscuity.

I am Reaylin de Voss,” she said smugly, as if he should recognize her surname. He did not, which meant her family was not particularly wealthy, powerful or influential. “Well,

The Normans also gave to the English the concept of the inherited surname that came to define a unified family and its property.

Not some sham family, politely avoiding having to care about one another, but people who would share a surname and the task of weaving a collective meaning into that name. People would support and protect and staunchly cherish one another.

Finally, the cognomen, a personal surname, was particular to its holder or his branch of the family. It often had a jokey or down-to-earth ring: so, for example, “Cicero” is Latin for “chickpea” and it was supposed that some ancestor had had a wart of that shape on the end of his nose. When Marcus was about to launch his career as an advocate and politician, friends advised him to change his name to something less ridiculous. “No,” he replied firmly, “I am going to make my cognomen more famous than those of men like Scaurus and Catulus.” These were two leading Romans of the day, and the point of the remark was that “Catulus” was the Latin for “whelp” or “puppy,” and “Scaurus” meant “with large or projecting ankles.

The Perea family is of Arabic origin. The surname Perea originates from the Arabic word “Bariya” and denotes a homeland now located in modern-day Jordan. This surname was phonetically changed in Spanish to “Perea,” which commonly happened with Arabic words absorbed into Spanish—including the word “Albuquerque,” the capital city of New Mexico, which derives from Arabic.

I want to know all of your family—your aunt and her husband and her son and also your uncle the pastor. I anticipate your uncle the pastor! He will try to convert me, maybe?” “Are you kidding? Uncle Theron couldn’t convert a kitten.” “Theron,” Pyotr repeated. He made it sound like “Seron.” “You are doing this to torture me?” “Doing what?” “So many th names!” “Oh,” Kate said. “Yes, and my mother’s name was Thea.” He groaned. “What is the surname of these people?” he asked. After the briefest pause, she said, “Thwaite.” “My God!” He clapped a hand to his forehead. She laughed. “I’m pulling your leg,” she told him. He lowered his hand and looked at her. “I was just kidding,” she clarified. “Really their surname is Dell.” “Ah,” he said. “You were joking. You made a joke. You were teasing me!” And he started capering around the cart. “Oh, Kate; oh, my comical Kate; oh, Katya mine…” “Stop it!” she said. People were staring at them. “Quit that and tell me which syrup you want.” He stopped capering and selected a bottle, seemingly at random, and dropped it into the cart.

She sometimes wondered what her twenty-two-year-old self would think of today’s Emma Mayhew. Would she consider her self-centred? Compromised? A bourgeois sell-out, with her appetite for home ownership and foreign travel, clothes from Paris and expensive haircuts? Would she find her conventional with her new surname and hopes for a family life? Maybe, but the twenty-two-year-old Emma Morley wasn’t such a paragon either: pretentious, petulant, lazy, speechifying, judgemental. Self-pitying, self-righteous, self-important, all the selfs except self-confident, the quality that she had always needed the most.

In the last year, ancestral DNA had become popular with people curious about their genealogy and, though this was much less publicized, as a tool for finding unidentified criminals. Many in law enforcement were wary. There were quality-assurance issues. Privacy issues. Holes knew DNA. Knew it well. In his opinion, ancestral DNA was a tool, not a certainty. He had a Y-DNA profile generated from the EAR’s DNA, which means he isolated the EAR’s paternal lineage. The Y-DNA profile could be input into certain genealogical websites, the kind that people use to find first cousins and the like. You input a set of markers from your Y-DNA profile, anywhere from 12 to 111, and a list of matches is returned, surnames of families with whom you might share a common ancestor. Almost always the matches are at a genetic distance of 1 from you, which doesn’t mean much, relative-seeking-wise. You’re looking for the elusive 0—a close match.

There’s a telling difference between ‘gene trees’ and ‘people trees’. Unlike a person who is descended from two parents, a gene has one parent only. Each one of your genes must have come from either your mother or your father, from one and only one of your four grandparents, from one and only one of your eight great-grandparents, and so on. But when whole people trace their ancestors in the conventional way, they descend equally from two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents and so on. This means that a ‘people genealogy’ is much more mixed up than a ‘gene genealogy’. In a sense, a gene takes a single path chosen from the maze of crisscrossing routes mapped by the (people) family tree. Surnames behave like genes, not like people. Your surname picks out a thin line through your full family tree. It highlights your male to male to male ancestry. DNA, with two notable exceptions which I shall come to later, is not so sexist as a surname: genes trace their ancestry through males and females with equal likelihood.

Scrolling through the rest of the 3,500 documents in Michelle’s hard drive, one comes upon a file titled “RecentDNAresults,” which features the EAR’s Y-STR markers (short tandem repeats on the Y chromosome that establish male-line ancestry), including the elusive rare PGM marker. Having the Golden State Killer’s DNA was always the one ace up this investigation’s sleeve. But a killer’s DNA is only as good as the databases we can compare it to. There was no match in CODIS. And there was no match in the California penal system’s Y-STR database. If the killer’s father, brothers, or uncles had been convicted of a felony in the past sixteen years, an alert would have gone to Paul Holes or Erika Hutchcraft (the current lead investigator in Orange County). They would have looked into the man’s family, zeroed in on a member who was in the area of the crimes, and launched an investigation. But they had nothing. There are public databases that the DNA profile could be used to match, filled not with convicted criminals but with genealogical buffs. You can enter the STR markers on the Y chromosome of the killer into these public databases and try to find a match, or at least a surname that could help you with the search.

She started to head out, but she passed her room. It was the same as she'd left it: a pile of cushions by her bed for Little Brother to sleep on, a stack of poetry and famous literature on her desk that she was supposed to study to become a "model bride," and the lavender shawl and silk robes she'd worn the day before she left home. The jade comb Mulan had left in exchange for the conscription notice caught her eye; it now rested in front of her mirror. Mulan's gaze lingered on the comb, on its green teeth and the pearl-colored flower nestled on its shoulder. She wanted to hold it, to put it in her hair and show her family- to show everyone- she was worthy. After all, her surname, Fa, meant flower. She needed to show them that she had bloomed to be worthy of her family name. But no one was here, and she didn't want to face her reflection. Who knew what it would show, especially in Diyu? She isn't a boy, her mother had told her father once. She shouldn't be riding horses and letting her hair loose. The neighbors will talk. She won't find a good husband- Let her, Fa Zhou had consoled his wife. When she leaves this household as a bride, she'll no longer be able to do these things. Mulan hadn't understood what he meant then. She hadn't understood the significance of what it meant for her to be the only girl in the village who skipped learning ribbon dances to ride Khan through the village rice fields, who chased after chickens and helped herd the cows instead of learning the zither or practicing her painting, who was allowed to have opinions- at all. She'd taken the freedom of her childhood for granted. When she turned fourteen, everything changed. I know this will be a hard change to make, Fa Li had told her, but it's for your own good. Men want a girl who is quiet and demure, polite and poised- not someone who speaks out of turn and runs wild about the garden. A girl who can't make a good match won't bring honor to the family. And worse yet, she'll have nothing: not respect, or money of her own, or a home. She'd touched Mulan's cheek with a resigned sigh. I don't want that fate for you, Mulan. Every morning for a year, her mother tied a rod of bamboo to Mulan's spine to remind her to stand straight, stuffed her mouth with persimmon seeds to remind her to speak softly, and helped Mulan practice wearing heeled shoes by tying ribbons to her feet and guiding her along the garden. Oh, how she'd wanted to please her mother, and especially her father. She hadn't wanted to let them down. But maybe she hadn't tried enough. For despite Fa Li's careful preparation, she had failed the Matchmaker's exam. The look of hopefulness on her father's face that day- the thought that she'd disappointed him still haunted her. Then fate had taken its turn, and Mulan had thrown everything away to become a soldier. To learn how to punch and kick and hold a sword and shield, to shoot arrows and run and yell. To save her country, and bring honor home to her family. How much she had wanted them to be proud of her.

In the 1930's Yanik brought blinis and apple charlottes, beef stroganoff and kulich to Tehran, opening the first confectionary with a garden café. He came with his wife, Nina, who spooned cinnamon-scented ground beef and onions into delicate piroshkies and learned to cook Persian food by trial and error, nourishing her family and customers with a generous spirit, mingling delicately with neighbors, and learning to speak Farsi. To steady their leap across borders, Yanik changed his surname from Yedemsky to Yadegar, and planted a small orchard of pomegranate, almond, and mulberry trees that would shade the terrace tables.

present counties of Clare, Galway, and Mayo, whence came the family name, in a contraction of Connaught-Galway to Connelly, Conly, Cory, Coddy, Coidy, and, finally, "Cod " Y• All this almost makes sense. However, it is only one of the legends Mrs. Wetmore offers up as fact in her book, despite her disclaimer in the preface that "embarrassed with riches of fact, I have had no thought of fiction." For the truth about William Cody's lineage, we must turn to Don Russell's authoritative biography, The Lives and Legends of Buffalo Bill. Russell's research was thorough and exemplary; the notes for his book in the Buffalo Bill Historical Center in Cody, Wyoming, are proof of that. According to Russell, "Buffalo Bill's most remote definitely known ancestor was one Philip, whose surname appears in various surviving records as Legody, Lagody, McCody, Mocody, Micody ... as well as Codie, Gody, Coady, and Cody." Russell traces Philip to Philippe Le Caude of the Isle of Jersey, who married Marthe Le Brocq of Guernsey in the parish of St. Brelades, Isle of Jersey, on September 15, 1692. Although the family names are French, the Channel Islands have been British possessions since the Middle Ages. No Irish or Spanish in sight; just good English stock. The Cody Family Association's book The Descendants of Philip and Martha Cody carries the line down to the present day. Buffalo Bill was sixth in descent from Philip. Philip and Martha purchased a home in Beverly, Massachusetts, in 1698, and occupied it for twenty-five years, farming six acres of adjacent land. In 1720 Philip bought land in Hopkinton, Massachusetts, and he and his family moved there, probably in 1722 or 1723. When he died in 1743, his will was probated under the name of Coady. The spelling of the family name had stabilized by the time Bill's father, Isaac, the son of Philip and Lydia Martin Cody, was born on September 15, 1811, in Toronto Township, Peel County, Upper Canada. It is Lydia Martin Cody who may have been responsible for the report of an Irish king in the family genealogy; she boasted that her ancestors were of Irish royal birth. When Isaac Cody was seventeen years old, his family moved to a farm near Cleveland, Ohio, in the vicinity of what is today Eighty-third Street and Euclid Avenue. That move would ultimately embroil William Cody in a lawsuit many years later, one of several suits he was destined to lose. Six years after arriving in Ohio, Isaac married Martha Miranda

Like many Swiss-Germans, Wisner was rugged man of nature who had a gift for machinery and engineering. His grandfather was Johannes Wiesner, a Swiss mercenary from the Canton of Zürich. The German surname “Wiesner” means “of the meadows.

The surname Fletcher belonged to my maternal grandfather and was one that he held very proudly. It is the name I legally adopted as my own surname at age 15. Fletcher is an English surname meaning “arrow maker” that was given to medieval craftsmen who designed and crafted arrows.

A recent study of four generations of families in Malmö suggests that intergenerational earnings and education correlations in Sweden have been at the modern level for at least three to four generations. The initial generation in the Malmö study was born between 1865 and 1912.

Page 44: A Chinese immigrant arriving in Bangkok is assured of ready assistance from his dialect group, and this help is offered without question by people who speak his own language and know his needs. Through them, he is put in contact with relatives or persons from his own village in China. They see that he is housed and given work. Later the association stands always ready to give help when needed—to offer advice on sending remittances to China, to provide interpreters when dealing with officials, and to intercede when the immigrant runs afoul of the government’s red tape. Like the prototype institutions of China, the dialect association provides educational and medical facilities—more elaborate in fact than anything available in the rude villages of South China, and a continuing system of protective services in times of crisis or misfortune. In Thailand the individual Chinese who needs a loan, a job, or help of any kind will ordinarily appeal to his relatives first as he would in China. When these are unable to help, he can usually get assistance from his dialect association. While the type of problem brought to the attention of the dialect association may differ from problems faced in China, the fact remains that the association stands ready to help the individual Chinese in precisely the same manner and with the same spirit as he would expect from his clan group in China. Furthermore, just as everyone with the same surname and family origin was considered a member of the clan in China and therefore entitled to assistance from other members, so in Thailand all persons of a certain dialect groups are considered ipso facto members of the dialect association and thereby entitled to its full assistance.

Page 71-72: Many Chinese business men adopt Thai personal and family names, particularly when dealings with the government are anticipated—an application for an export permit, say, signed with a Chinese name may be rejected out of hand, or inordinately delayed, while the same application with a Thai name will receive better treatment. The new surnames adopted ordinarily incorporate the Chinese family name, thus ‘Chang’ becomes ‘Changtrakul’, and ‘Hoon’ becomes ‘Hoonthrarasmi’, but this fact is no handicap to their use for all official purposes. The changes cited above that occur in names seldom reach as far as the home. Thai personal and family names by which individuals may be officially known are not used within the family group or even among close Chinese friends.

The Warburg family is the most important ally of the Rothschilds, and the history of this family is at least equally interesting. The book The Warburgs shows that the bloodline of this family dates back to the year 1001.[28] Whilst fleeing from the Muslims, they established themselves in Spain. There they were pursued by Fernando of Aragon and Isabella of Castile and moved to Lombardy. According to the annals of the city of Warburg, in 1559, Simon von Cassel was entitled to establish himself in this city in Westphalia, and he changed his surname to Warburg. The city register proves that he was a banker and a trader. The real banking tradition was beginning to take shape when three generations later Jacob Samuel Warburg immigrated to Altona in 1668. His grandson Markus Gumprich Warburg moved to Hamburg in 1774, where his two sons founded the well-known bank Warburg & Co. in 1798. With the passage of time, this bank did business throughout the entire world. By 1814, Warburg & Co had business relations with the Rothschilds in London. According to Joseph Wechsberg in his book The Merchant Bankers, the Warburgs regarded themselves equal to the Rothschild, Oppenheimer and Mendelsohn families.[29] These families regularly met in Paris, London and Berlin. It was an unwritten rule that these families let their descendants marry amongst themselves. The Warburgs married, just like the Rothschilds, within houses (bloodlines). That’s how this family got themselves involved with the prosperous banking family Gunzberg from St. Petersburg, with the Rosenbergs from Kiev, with the Oppenheims and Goldschmidts from Germany, with the Oppenheimers from South Africa and with the Schiffs from the United States.[30] The best-known Warburgs were Max Warburg (1867-1946), Paul Warburg (1868-1932) and Felix Warburg (1871-1937). Max Warburg served his apprenticeship with the Rothschilds in London, where he asserted himself as an expert in the field of international finances. Furthermore, he occupied himself intensively with politics and, since 1903, regularly met with the German minister of finance. Max Warburg advised, at the request of monarch Bernhard von Bülow, the German emperor on financial affairs. Additionally, he was head of the secret service. Five days after the armistice of November 11, 1918 he was delegated by the German government as a peace negotiator at a peace committee in Versailles. Max Warburg was also one of the directors of the Deutsche Reichsbank and had financial importances in the war between Japan and Russia and in the Moroccan crisis of 1911. Felix Warburg was familiarized with the diamond trade by his uncle, the well-known banker Oppenheim. He married Frieda Schiff and settled in New York. By marrying Schiff’s daughter he became partner at Kuhn, Loeb & Co. Paul Warburg became acquainted with the youngest daughter of banker Salomon Loeb, Nina. It didn’t take long before they married. Paul Warburg left Germany and also became a partner with Kuhn, Loeb & Co. in New York. During the First World War he was a member of the Federal Reserve Board, and in that position he had a controlling influence on the development of American financial policies. As a financial expert, he was often consulted by the government. The Warburgs invested millions of dollars in various projects which all served one purpose: one absolute world government. That’s how the war of Japan against Russia (1904-1905) was financed by the Warburgs bank Kuhn, Loeb & Co.[31] The purpose of this war was destroying the csardom. As said before, in testimony before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, James P. Warburg said: “We shall have a world government, whether or not we like it. The question is only whether world government

I placed my thumb over the name Hendricks and swallowed hard. I let the image of the girl I’d left in the kitchen be forefront in my mind and pictured the surname Ryan instead. My heart started racing as I imagined it all. Rachel in a white dress, her blue eyes and beautiful smile directed at me as we exchanged vows. Rachel with my parents and Mason’s family. Us at the beach in Florida. Rachel’s stomach round with my hands pressed softly against it. I let my focus come back to the bedroom of the villa and blew out a hard breath. It didn’t matter that I’d only known her a little over two months. I’d known that first day that she was a game changer, and I was sure now that I couldn’t live without her. I wanted to marry her; I wanted everything I’d just envisioned. And I wanted it now. Letting

David was one of nine children, and Sydney was one of four. Their respective siblings produced, between 1910 and 1927, twenty-one children with the surnames Mitford, Farrer, Kearsey, Bowyer, Bowles and Bailey, and many of these first cousins were to play major parts in the lives of the Mitford children as they grew up and visited each other’s homes. But the network of kinsmen who were to people the lives of the Mitford children were rooted further back in the family tree. Both of David’s parents – ‘Bertie’ Mitford (Bertram, 1st Lord Redesdale) and Lady Clementine Ogilvy – came from large families, and he remained close to many of them and to their numerous offspring.* ---- In addressing this question, one of Clementine Churchill’s daughters stated that her mother never learned the identity of her natural father though she knew he was not Henry Hozier.14 Bertie Mitford is the most likely suspect, even though the poet and writer Wilfred Scawen Blunt claimed that Natty confessed to him that her two elder daughters were fathered by Captain George ‘Bay’ Middleton, known by his foxhunting contemporaries as ‘the bravest of the brave’, and to history as the dashing lover of the sporting Empress, Elizabeth of Austria.15 This, however, must be set against the fact that Natty told a close friend, just before the birth of Clementine, that the child she was carrying was ‘Lord Redesdale’s’.

The name " Rothschild" came from the red shield, or, as it is said in German, the " rothes schild," which designated the house in which the family lived. In those days there were no street numbers. Each family hung out some picture or emblem to mark their abode. When families were compelled to choose surnames this Jewish family, remembering the red shield, decided to call themselves Rothschild.

Mitochondrial genes act like a female surname, which enables us to trace our ancestry down the female line in the way some families try to trace their descent down the male line from William the Conqueror, or Noah, or Mohammed.

After, presumably, Rosewater found out that Chekhov was not Jewish, he did not bother with any more questions about people with surnames ending with ov. That included my Israeli friend David Shem-tov. I don’t think you can find a more Israeli name than Shem-tov, but I could just imagine the Revolutionary Guards researchers saying to each other, “Chekhov, Molotov, Shem-tov, they are all the same!

Common people rushed to trade in their “low-born” surnames (such as Pi) for a more respected Kim or Park. This explains why such family names are so common,

If the girl wasn’t registered (and this was the case as she wasn’t yet born), only Alina’s family had the right to take responsibility for her. When my friends told me this I was surprised. I said to myself that surnames and parental rights are courtesies we pay to men once they acknowledge their children, almost like a dowry. The truth is that in our society it is optional for children to be allotted fathers, whereas mothers have no choice in the matter.

After all, her surname, Fa, meant flower. She needed to show them that she had bloomed to be worthy of her family name.

But that family was alone. They would be alone no matter who came or how much food was brought to the house afterwards. The father of a dead son, when that son had no brothers, must stand alone with his surname dying in his mind. The mother of a dead son must stand alone even among her sisters with the memory of that child's birth and the wasted milk of his nursing.

What got Artie, however, was that even though everyone knew Michael Romanoff was a fraud, he was still paid to consult on pictures about the Russian Imperial family. It was an ouroboros of bullshit: a man who built his artifice from movie fantasies became the authority legitimizing and propagating those fantasies. They weren’t remotely realistic, but then again, what kind of masochist enjoys realism? Realism is everywhere. It stinks. Artie had emigrated from Europe to escape all that dour realism. If Manhattan critics privileged with Anglo surnames and Ivy League pedigrees fetishized realism, it was because they resided in realms more artificial than any Artie conjured

You are blood, But you aren’t family. You look like me, But you’re my enemy. You share my surname, But you rob me of my sanity. You are of my lineage, But you created a tragedy.

For example, in 1965, the family of Josef K.—who, according to the BVA, was an ethnic German born in 1927 to two German parents—was not granted an entry visa because his non-German wife, Djurdja, did not speak any German and the children had “typically Slavic first names.”37 The fact that past applicants from their hometown Sokolovac in Croatia had had a good knowledge of the German language was held against this candidate. In a similar case in 1964, Emil S. and his wife, Jelka, from Slavonian Vukovar were denied entry despite the “typically German” first names of their three children—Josef, Emmerich, and Karl—because Jelka’s Croatian Volkstum was judged to be dominant in the family.38 In contrast, Stefan V., a Hungarian German man from Czerwenka (Crvenka) in Serbia was accepted, even though he had his father’s typically Hungarian surname and was registered as Hungarian in his Yugoslav identification. His son Tibor bore an equally Hungarian first name. Yet Stefan and his children spoke excellent German and, according to the embassy in Belgrade, “made a very good impression.” Therefore, their application was granted without hesitation.39

Upon hearing about an Indian caste system comprised of five main castes, each of which is divided into about 3,000 sub-castes based on occupation, most foreigners contextualize the concept as being quite alien. People of Anglo-Saxon descent may come to this conclusion forgetting that many of their brethren still walk around with names like Smith and Tailor attached to them—names that hail from a similar caste system. That’s right: In the medieval period, families often maintained specialist trades passed down from one generation to the next. While the Anglo-Saxon caste system was never as strict as that which ultimately developed in India, it wasn’t profoundly less strict than its pre-British Indian counterpart. . . .  What is fascinating about caste systems, and likely a core reason they evolved in so many cultures, is that they allow for the genetic concentration of skills within certain specialties. As offensive as this concept is, the genetic vortices created by castes are so strong that their effects can be seen centuries after they dissolved. A study  conducted in the U.K. in 2015 found that people with the surname Smith (descended from the smith caste) had higher physical capabilities and an above-average aptitude for strength-related activities, while those with the surname Tailor (descended from the tailor caste) had a higher-than-average aptitude for dexterity-related tasks.

My angel agreed to leave no one out, making us all one family. I will become Parker Steele, while the others will have a double surname, with Steele at the front. It fits perfectly for each of them as if it was always meant to happen. Roman Steele-Rivera. Oscar Steele-O’Shay. Kai Steele-Fuse.

The persistence of high and low status for some groups in various societies would seem to contradict the simple law of mobility for social status. However, in each of the anomalous cases discussed above, there are factors at play that can make even extreme persistence consistent with the same universal tendency for families to regress toward the mean over time. Elites and underclasses seem to be created by mechanisms that select them from the top or bottom of the established status distribution. They can also be created, as in the case of the Gypsy/Traveller community in England, by differential fertility between higher- and lower-status members of a group.

A comparable connection between state building and the invention of permanent patronyms exists for fourteenth- and fifteenth-century England. As in Tuscany, in England only wealthy aristocratic families tended to have fixed surnames.

Five days after the world found out that her name was Fouzia Azeem, Qandeel received a legal notice from Fayyaz Leghari, a lawyer in Gadai, a town 20 kilometres from Shah Sadar Din. He wanted her to stop using ‘Baloch’ as her surname or claim to be a Baloch woman. ‘You have no relation (sic) with any Baloch family or tribe,’ Leghari wrote.

The Jenkins family, who took her in after the Kindertransport, gave her their surname. She didn’t expect to see any of her family again. This was supposed to be a fresh start for her, here in England. Her mother, God bless her, was already dead. Her father was in trouble with the authorities.’ ‘For doing what?’ Though I had pretty much guessed the answer: he was Jewish. ‘It’s just so stupid,’ I said, drying the plate rather roughly. ‘How can you hate someone just because of how they live their life?’ Mrs. Henderson sighed. ‘People like to have something to hate – it makes life easier when things go wrong if there’s someone to blame. Think about what happened here today with that pilot, Olive.’ She meant how quickly the crowd turned on him. It was frightening how easily normal, pleasant people got whipped up into nastiness. The possibility that something similar had happened to Esther’s family disturbed me. ‘But it’s worse than that, isn’t it?’ I said, thinking ‘The German pilot was a fighter from the enemy side. Esther’s family were… well… just people.’ ‘Yes, my dear,’ Mrs. Henderson sighed again, blowing damp strands of hair off her face. ‘Normal, educated, cultured people. It was all very well, the Kindertransport, but what good’s a child without its parents? You saw what it did to Esther.’ ‘Well, I’m glad they’re all here,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you helped them.’ Mrs. Henderson looked sad. ‘But we can’t save everyone… our government needs to take some responsibility and do much, much more. We should be helping them flee Hitler, not turning them away. We’ve had to smuggle these good people in like criminals.

The eldest daughter of a family is always addressed as ‘Miss’ followed by her surname, e.g. Jane, the eldest Bennet girl, is ‘Miss Bennet’. The younger daughters are addressed as ‘Miss’ followed by their first name and surname, e.g. ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet’. It is most impolite to address a lady or gentleman by their Christian name unless you are a close relative. In Emma, Miss Woodhouse is appalled by Mrs Elton’s overfamiliarity – she calls Mr Knightley ‘Knightley’ and Jane Fairfax by her full name, instead of ‘Miss Fairfax’: ‘Heavens! Let me not suppose that she dares go about Emma Woodhouse-ing me! But, upon my honour, there seem no limits to the licentiousness of that woman’s tongue!’ Frank Churchill, too, Jane’s secret fiancé, is upset when he hears ‘“Jane”… bandied between the Eltons, with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the insolence of imaginary superiority.

But tell me one thing, why do Bengalis still use surnames that indicate their caste? We used to do it in Kerala fifty years ago, now we don’t do it any more. But you people still use Mukherjee and Chatterjee and so on.’ I did not have an answer to his question, but I knew that the question was a well-meaning one, asked out of innocent curiosity by one member of the communist society to another presumed member. He did not know that I actually hailed from the Hindi heartland, where people wear their caste names like medals. Casteism in Uttar Pradesh is so rampant that it can lead to embarrassing situations in day-to-day life because of two certain surnames—Sharma and Verma. There are two varieties of Sharma, one the Brahmins and the other the craftsman community, such as carpenters, called Vishwakarmas. And there are two varieties of Vermas, one the Kayasthas and other the mallah or the boatman community. The uppercaste Sharmas and Vermas never miss a chance to point out that they are not to be confused with the other set of Sharmas and Vermas. I was witness to such an incident, while in college in Kanpur. Among my many friends, there were two Sharmas, one Anil Sharma, a boy from a well-to-do family, and another Sunil Sharma, who rarely spoke about his family. One winter afternoon, while I was having a smoke with Sunil at the parking lot, Anil came by. I introduced them to each other. ‘Meet Sunil Sharma,’ I told Anil. Anil somewhat hesitated to shake Sunil’s hand but when he finally did, the first thing he asked was, ‘Are you the Brahmin Sharma or the Vishwakarma Sharma?’ Sunil’s face went red with embarrassment, but he mustered a smile and said, ‘Vishwakarma Sharma.’ ‘No wonder. I could tell that,’ Anil grinned and took leave, leaving me red-faced. But that was then. Today, Anil could have been lynched for that arrogant grin, because power has gone to the hitherto-suppressed classes. Either way, the fact remains that caste rules. Compared to Uttar Pradesh, Kerala might be a paradise, where caste is nearly irrelevant in public life, but are there not people who still take pride in being called a Nair or a Nambiar or a Menon? I wanted to ask Mr Sankarankutty that, but I let it be. His question was, after all, a well-meaning one. By now, I had completely forgotten that a whisky bottle was sitting there. The conversation with him had distracted me from my hypochondria and I felt perfectly fine. After he left, I reached for my skipping rope and jumped five hundred times non-stop. I knew I was in perfect shape to climb even a mountain.

Once, I’d wished to change my family name; just sounds off the wall, my father’s surname. But my fiancée said it’s not in the name, it’s in the person who carries the name. Eureka! You can be happy right now without changing anything anyhow. Just simply turn around your mental view, and your world shall, straight off, look bright and new!

The McEvoys, for their part, apparently had two dominant founding Y chromosomes, a theory that is supported by records revealing that when the name was anglicized, two ancient families, the Mac Fhiodhbhuidhes and the Mac an Bheathas, were drawn in under the same banner and both became McEvoys. History also indicates that fully three Irish surnames—McGuiness, Neeson, and McCreesh—are all anglicizations of the same Gaelic name Mac Aonghusa (son of Angus), which DNA evidence confirms, as all three groups overlap strongly on one Y.

At the time that the sagas were written, however, names were not passed down in families, and recall that English surnames only came into being seven hundred years ago.

She slit the envelope with the knife and pulled out the paper. She read it quickly, with trained eyes, and she dropped it into the garbage. The chardonnay was shitty gas station wine called Hodnapp’s Harvest. Though the labels on the backs of trendier and more whimsical wines might say something like PAIRS WELL WITH DELICATE GRILLED FISH AND SPRING RISOTTO—none of the labels ever mentioned complementing string cheese, she noted—this one featured a photo of what was apparently the Hodnapp family crest. She squinted to read the calligraphic inscription below the surname: THIS WINE PAIRS WELL WITH FRIENDSHIP. She poured a third of the bottle into a coffee mug and went by herself onto the balcony to mourn her future.

My surname isn’t Columba anymore. I’m not a dove, I’m a hunter. An Orion. I am your family whether you want me or not.