It’s my new title.
Like it?
Because you’re loyal blog followers, I’ll let you in on the secret of its meaning (instead of making you wait for the book to be published and finding out from the story what “Amaranth” means).
Some of you may recognize the name as a grain (technically, it’s a seed), or as bright, colourful, decorative flower. It is, but because of the plant’s longevity, it’s also considered, wait for it…
… a symbol of immortality. Often the symbol is compared with that of a phoenix, something that rises from its ashes. Appropriate, yes? “Amaranth” is derived from the Greek word “amarantos” which means “unfading”.
(By the way, please don’t tell Lyra–she doesn’t find out the meaning of the flower until the last chapter. I’d hate for you to ruin the end of the story for her. 🙂 )
Why the change? Partially because of my beta reader comments and partially because, well, I’ve never liked The Phoenix Cell Saviour.
I’ve always hated coming up with titles. I never know what will best represent my story, but the pressure to get it right, in my mind, is immense. (I mean, I need to picture it on a movie poster when I sell the movie rights, right?) More than that, though, I need to be happy with it because this is how the book–my creation, me–will be known to the wider world. Like we fling about the “Harry Potter” series, or “Hunger Games” or “the Twilight saga”, the title becomes the first point of contact, the entry point, not only into the book but into any discussion about the book. (Including the all-important, vital word-of-mouth.)
Titles are to have significance not only to the plot, but to the messages, values and meaning of the story itself. I think of the novels I teach: The Great Gatsby, where the title derives from the singular, idealistic, hopeful romantic character of Jay Gatsby whom the author F. Scott Fitzgerald uses to prove his point about the American dream being an illusion. Or Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, a phrase six-year-old Scout Finch hears from her dad Atticus in 1930s Alabama as she learns how, like the innocent songbirds, many innocent people suffer because of inherent, systemic racism. Or The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, a mouthful of a title for the novel by Mark Haddon, taken from a line in a Sherlock Holmes story, “Silver Blaze”. While superficially, the title explains the plot, it’s in fact much deeper than that–it addresses an important theme in the book about how what’s missing is as important as what’s there.
I’m not trying to get my book onto the school curriculum (unless teachers want it!); I am trying to find a moniker that will best reflect my theme, my character, my story.
Thanks to my husband, I believe I now have it. Scott was the one who stumbled on the word–a word, a flower, a grain–I’d never heard of before. We played around it with, discussed it, and I decided to go for it.
The problem?
There is not one mention of amaranth in my book.
The solution?
Add some in.
The conclusion?
The beauty of revision. 🙂
I took the proposed new title back to some of my beta readers (and a few who know of the book but haven’t yet read it): they like it. (Whew.)
My draft is with my book coach Jennie now, going through one last round of edits before I prepare to submit it to literary agents, and she may not like the new title, or may have thought of other problems with it that I haven’t, or may think that I’m stretching my revisions, but all that remains to be seen. The other possibility is that she loves it.
So for now, begone The Phoenix Cell Saviour and make way for Amaranth.
A book–I mean, a flower–that will live forever.