Names have significance. Names define things. Long ago ships would be given names, giving them character. The same with swords.
Why are we obsessed with names?
I don't have the answer for that. Truthfully, I would very much love to investigate that question, but I don't have the motivation or the time.
Not so long ago, I researched my own name, and I found that it fit me perfectly. Why does this happen? Do we grow into them, or do they grow into us?
Again, I don't have an answer. I don't think Bernard Cooper does either, given that his essay, By Any Other Name, didn't end up going anywhere other than the surface fascination of names. It was a wonderful piece of work, like the kind I would actually enjoy reading off of my Facebook homepage. It was thoughtful, but it only seemed to be a lot of thinking and one or two memories to springboard the brain.
To be perfectly honest, I have little to no experience with creative non-fiction. There was one memoir a while back... So I will comment only on the focus. The focus of these creative "essays" seems to be purely thought, speculation, and reflection, whereas poetry was emotion, and stories were development.
Putting it short, it's a essentially a Facebook rant, albeit an intelligent one.
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