At some point in elementary school, I remember being taught that many surnames were derived from professions. Hello Mr. Harry Potter! I was young enough that when I learned this, I became jealous of someone with the last name of Coleman, because my surname doesn’t really resemble a profession so much as sound like the larval form of one musca domestica.
I have seen many of Barbara Kingsolver’s works on the trains and buses over the years, but it wasn’t until I saw The Lacuna, that I realized her name made me think of that elementary school lesson every time. Why? Because every time I saw it, I thought it was spelled “Kingslover,” and I wondered if her forebears had been part of the, uh, let’s say “court” of the English monarchy. But as “Kingsolver,” maybe they helped settle disputes when the path of ascension was in doubt.
So what have you learned from this post about Barbara Kingsolver or her novels? Nothing! What have you learned about me? That I am prone to suggestive dyslexia, haunted by my elementary school experience, and have a really weird last name. Oh, go read the book, I’m sure it’s fine.