A name is a name is a name: some thoughts and personal opinions about molluscan scientifi c names S. Peter Dance Dance, S.P. A name is a name is a name: some thoughts and personal opinions about molluscan scien- tifi c names. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (7), 9.vii.2009: 565-576, fi gs 1-9.― ISSN 0024-0672. S.P. Dance, Cavendish House, 83 Warwick Road, Carlisle CA1 1EB, U.K. ([email protected]). Key words: Mollusca, scientifi c names. Since 1758, with the publication of Systema Naturae by Linnaeus, thousands of scientifi c names have been proposed for molluscs. The derivation and uses of many of them are here examined from various viewpoints, beginning with names based on appearance, size, vertical distribution, and location. There follow names that are amusing, inventive, ingenious, cryptic, ideal, names supposedly blasphemous, and names honouring persons and pets. Pseudo-names, diffi cult names and names that are long or short, over-used, or have sexual connotations are also examined. Pertinent quotations, taken from the non-scientifi c writings of Gertrude Stein, Lord Byron and William Shakespeare, have been incorporated for the benefi t of those who may be inclined to take scientifi c names too seriously. Introduction Posterity may remember Gertrude Stein only for ‘A rose is a rose is a rose’. The mean- ing behind this apparently meaningless statement, she said, was that a thing is what it is, the name invoking the images and emotions associated with it. One of the most cele- brated lines in twentieth-century poetry, it highlights the importance of names by a sim- ple process of repetition. Gertrude Stein, a poet, is saying that a rose is, uniquely, a rose. She had something in common with Carolus Linnaeus, a scientifi c man, who perfected a method of giving unique names to animals and plants. Names matt ered to them both. For various reasons, names also matt er to me. I touched briefl y upon some of the topics discussed here in my book Out of my Shell (Dance, 2005), but the subject deserves a fuller treatment. I am well aware that the naming of molluscs is an essentially serious exercise, but I shall allow myself a litt le innocent fun as I investigate the sometimes weird and wonderful scientifi c names that have been applied, or misapplied, to mol- luscs during the past two and a half centuries. Thousands of scientifi c names have been proposed for molluscs and although many are disappointingly uninformative, a certain amount of thought has gone into the crea- tion of all of them. A name may tell us something about the physical characteristics of the mollusc, or more frequently of its shell, may indicate where it was found, and may be a means of honouring or mocking an individual. It may be long or short, simple or complicated, occasionally sexy, and may display a sense of humour. Recently José Leal showed that a name may also reveal some uncertainty in the mind of the proposer. Having been unduly puzzled over the relationships of a small group of deep-water bi- valves, he chose the generic name Dilemma for them. ‘Dilemma’ is the Greek noun for a proposition consisting of questionable alternatives. ‘It is used in this case’, he said, ‘to denote the impasses faced by the author in the course of this work’ (Leal, 2008). 566 Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) Many molluscs are known by non-scientifi c names, too, and when there is some doubt about the correct scientifi c name for one of them, it may be expedient to use a vernacular name for it. The mollusc bearing the scientifi c name Buccinum undatum, for instance, has many diff erent vernacular names, oft en several in the same language. Among other names it is known in English as Whelk; in Dutch as Wulk; in German as Wellhorn; in French as Buccin; in Norwegian as Kongsnegl; in Portuguese as Búzio; in Spanish as Bocina; in Finnish as Metsätorvikotilo. I shall say litt le more about vernacu- lar names for the simple reason that they lack international currency. Linnaeus gave this well-known edible gastropod its current scientifi c name in 1758, in the tenth edition of Systema Naturae, long established as the starting point for scientifi c names in zoology (Linnaeus, 1758). Unless and until someone has just cause to modify it, Buccinum unda- tum is its unique and universal scientifi c name (the second part of the name being known, more precisely, as the ‘specifi c epithet’). Useless names Before examining some of the various categories of molluscan scientifi c names it may be worth pointing out that many names do not transmit any useful information. They suggest, to me anyway, that litt le time or eff ort has been devoted to creating them. The sheer number of molluscan genera and species, of course, may be why there are so many such names. Oft en-used epithets such as vulgaris, incerta and modesta, for instance, tell us only that a species was considered to be common, doubtful or unassuming. Even a featureless mollusc, or its shell, deserves a bett er nomenclatural fate than this. Names based on physical att ributes Inevitably, the physical att ributes of molluscs are refl ected in many scientifi c names proposed for them. Epithets relating to structural features, such as canaliculata, cancel- lata, lamellata, and coronata are, or should be, appropriate to their subjects. Usually they are. Appropriate, too, are epithets such as elongata and ovata, describing shell shape. It is also reasonable to use epithets describing colour, such as rosea, viridis, or brunnea. It seems futile, however, to propose a name indicating that a mollusc or its shell merely displays colour, as in Helicina colorata Pease, 1868, and Donax tinctus Gould, 1850. Names based on size Size-related epithets have been chosen for various species, a familiar and appropri- ate example being Tridacna gigas (Röding, 1798). Sometimes, however, a size-based epi- thet may be ill-chosen. In 1927 William Healey Dall proposed the name Stilifer minuta for a tiny species belonging to a genus of tiny species. Temple Prime erred in the op- posite direction in 1852 when he named a small Sphaeriid clam Cyclas gigas. Names suggesting vertical distribution It seems reasonable enough to choose a name indicating that a species lives in deep water, for example Limopsis abyssicola A. Adams, 1862. It should not be assumed that the Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) 567 use of an epithet suggestive of altitude, however, indicates that a species occurs at high levels. Such an assumption would be correct for Helicostyla montana Semper, 1891, a land snail found on high ground in the Philippines. It would not be correct for Megaspira elata (Gould, 1847) and M. elatior (Spix, 1827). The specifi c epithets imply that the mol- luscs named are raised up, which they are, but only in the sense that their shells have high spires. Names derived from places Many generic and specifi c names have a geographical connotation. Specifi c epithets such as americana, neozelandicum, mauritiana, barbadensis, and africana are common and have been around for a long time. This cannot be said of generic names. The earliest I have found, a reference to Spain, is Iberus Montfort, 1810. Another early one is Vanikoro, proposed by Quoy and Gaimard in 1832, this being also the name of a small island in the Solomon group. Few such names were proposed in the nineteenth century, but they became more common during the fi rst half of the twentieth, when creating them be- came something of a habit for one malacologist. Horace Burrington Baker specialised in obscure groups of land snails, such as the island-dwelling Microcystinae, and in a series of publications he proposed a number of new generic names that may be identifi ed with the names of islands in the Central Pa- cifi c. For instance, the islands of Raiatea, Kusai, and Guam clearly lend their names to the genera Raiatea, Kusaiea, and Guamia (see Baker, 1938). Similarly, the island of Koror in the Palau group lends its name to the genus Kororia (see Baker, 1941). He was not the only malacologist infatuated with small, island-dwelling land snails. C. Montague Cook and Yoshio Kondo showed a similar tendency in a monograph of the Achatinellidae, in which they proposed the genus Tubuaia, named aft er the island of Tubuai. High points of Pacifi c islands infatuated them even more. In the same monograph they proposed Taitaa, named aft er the highest peak on Tubuai, and Tautautua, Pukunia and Mitiperna, all named aft er peaks on the island of Rapa (Cooke & Kondo, 1960). Amusing and inventive names Félix Pierre Jousseaume created two names that strike me as amusing: Extra extra in 1894, and Diabolica diabolica in 1897. I am sure Jousseaume also thought them amusing – and possibly controversial. In the twentieth century Tom Iredale became noteworthy for bringing humour and inventiveness into the serious business of naming molluscs. The many names he proposed for molluscan genera and species are oft en witt y, al- though it helps to have more than a passing acquaintance with the English language to appreciate them. From the extensive list of his generic names I select three of the more original. Berylsma, 1924, he named aft er his wife, she being the mother (or Ma) of their daughter Beryl! Ovatipsa, 1931, typifi ed by Cypraea chinensis Gmelin, 1791, refers to the tendency of some specimens to ‘tip over’! In 1929 he named a genus of bubble shells Osoratt is because, so it is said, working on it made him feel ‘Oh so ratt y’ (i.e. irritable)! Others followed suit with some amusing and apt names. In 1966, for instance, Dwight Taylor introduced some Iredalean humour into his account of the unique molluscan fauna of a valley in Coahuila State, Mexico, when he christened one of his 568 Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) discoveries Paludiscala caramba. The specifi c epithet ‘caramba’ is a colloquial Spanish word expressing sur- prise. He said the word was ‘loosely translated from my original remarks at seeing the shells’ (Taylor, 1966). Understandably, he had been surprised when he saw how closely the ribbed shell of this tiny gastropod, col- lected from a freshwater marsh, resembled shells be- longing to the exclusively marine family Epitoniidae, a resemblance echoed in the name he gave to the genus. Paludiscala derives from palus, the Latin for marsh, and scala refers to the generic name formerly given to many members of the Epitoniidae, Scala. Alan Solem, like Baker, was well known for his Fig. 1. Paludiscala caramba Taylor, work on land snails of tropical islands, especially the 1966. Length 2.5 mm. Redrawn, af- Endodontidae, and he had his own brand of nomen- ter Taylor, 1966. clatural humour. He wanted to be the author of the fi rst and last entries in any alphabetical arrangement of molluscan generic names, at least that was what I had assumed. As Baker had already claimed the fi rst entry with Aa, Solem had to sett le for second place with his Aaadonta. He made sure of the last entry, however, with Zyz- zyxdonta! I now know my assumption may have been incorrect. In his impressive study of the diminutive and distinctively sculptured Endodontoid snails of Pa- Fig. 2. Aaadonta constricta constricta cifi c islands, Solem had this to say: ‘Species of the ge- (Semper, 1874). Diameter 4 mm. Redrawn, aft er Solem, 1976. nus Aaadonta represent the extreme development of fi ne sculpture and have the westernmost range of exist- ing Endodontidae. The single known species of Zyz- zyxdonta represents the extreme gross sculptural devel- opment within the family and is at the southwestern fringe of distribution. It was thought appropriate that their names be as widely separated as their sculpture’ (Solem, 1976: 466). Perhaps I am not the only one who thinks it may have been inappropriate to separate their names in this absurd manner. Fig. 3. Zyzzyxdonta alata Solem, Ingenious names 1976. Diameter 4 mm. Redrawn, aft er Solem, 1976. Names may be odd, outlandish, or amusing, but they are not necessarily ingenious. An ingenious name is one that is original, imagina- tive and appropriate. Three names that come to mind each have a specifi c epithet that, in my opinion, cannot be bett ered: Cypraea ovata caputviperae Martin, 1899, Kondoa as- teriscus Baker, 1941, and Trubatsa pavlova (Iredale, 1936). The names apply to three very diff erent shells. The fi rst, a Miocene fossil from Indonesia, has a dorsum that, Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) 569 viewed from above, bears a striking resemblance to a snake’s head. The second, a small, low-spired land snail from the Caroline Islands in the Pacifi c, has a disc-shaped shell, ornamented with evenly spaced lamellae project- ing at the circumference, in the manner of an asterisk (Baker, 1941). The epithet asteriscus occurs in the names of two or three other molluscs, but Baker’s use of it for a small snail with a fl att ened shell is singularly appropri- ate. The third, a shell from the coastal waters of New South Wales, has an anal canal projecting upwards from Fig. 4. Cypraea ovata caputviperae Martin, 1899. Length 38 mm. its apertural edge, while its siphonal canal projects downwards. This distinctive confi guration inspired a malacologist with an unconventional att itude to scien- tifi c nomenclature to create what I regard as the most in- genious name ever proposed for a mollusc. Tom Iredale may have had litt le in common with Anna Pavlova, but when he named a small, deep-water gastropod in her honour, he showed that, in one respect anyway, he shared something with the most famous ballerina of her day – a touch of genius! Fig. 5. Kondoa asteriscus Baker, Cryptic names 1941. Diameter 8.5 mm. Re- drawn, aft er Baker, 1941. Two molluscan names involving a so-called cryptic sense of humour deserve special mention. The fi rst of these is a bivalve from New Zealand waters, Ascitellina urinatoria (Suter, 1913). A. W. B. Powell said that when Suter, a fellow New Zealander, chose the specifi c epithet urinatoria he was ‘merely striving to point out that the original specimen owed its discovery to the fact that it was washed out of the dredged mud, lodged in the scup- pers of the research vessel, by a method suggested by the choice of name’ (Powell, 1979: 2). In other words, someone had urinated upon the mud. Whether or not someone had done so may be beside the point because urinatoria de- rives from urinator, Latin for a diver! The second cryptic name is Abra cadabra, proposed for a sub-fossil bivalve un- earthed from an alluvial deposit near Basrah, Iraq (Eames & Wilkins, 1957). Many years ago, when I asked Dr Eames Fig. 6. Trubatsa pavlova (Iredale, to explain the name, he joked that the mollusc in question 1936). Length 16 mm. had been dead a long time, so it could be considered a cadaver, hence Abra cadabra! He also told me that he could not resist the temptation to incorporate a familiar magical incantation into the scientifi c name of this otherwise mundane shell! Sadly, the species has since been allocated to the genus Theora, so its name has lost its magic. 570 Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) Ideal names In this category I would place names showing a knowledge of various languages, a respect for the meanings of words and an ability to use them cleverly. A good example is Mexithauma quadripaludium, the name Dwight Taylor gave to another of the strange gastropods he described from Coahuila. The generic name Mexithauma is derived from ‘México’ and ‘thauma’ (or ‘thaumatos’), Greek for a marvel or wonder. The specifi c epi- thet quadripaludium, he said, is the Latin translation of ‘de las cuatro ciénegas’ or ‘of the four marshes’ (Taylor, 1966). Blasphemous names For obvious reasons it is not a good idea to devise names that may off end religious sensibilities. I have found only one scientifi c name that could – but probably would not – off end a devout Moslem: Helix mahometana Bourguignat, 1860. On the other hand, religious sensibilities came into play in 1957 when the generic name Jumala Friele, 1882, was rejected by the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature. The Com- mission, in its wisdom, pointed out that Jumala is the Lapp word for God and decreed that Friele’s genus should be deleted in favour of Beringius Dall, 1886 (ICZN, 1957). Tucker Abbott was quick to point out that Jumala means Jehovah or Maker and does honour to God (Abbott , 1974: 207), but he was not quick enough. Jumala had already been banished from the Pantheon of molluscan names on the specious grounds of blas- phemy. Honorifi c names There are two principal reasons for honouring a person with the name of a genus or a species: either that person has provided a service or has achieved distinction in some way or other, usually in the cause of science. There are other reasons, of course, one of them being to fl att er, another because the honour has been purchased. Hugh Cuming may hold the record for the greatest number of species named aft er one person, Des- hayes being not far behind. The way Cuming made available his huge shell collection to specialists guaranteed that many supposed new species would bear his name. Ironi- cally, Linnaeus, the inventor of the system enabling a passionate shell collector to be so honoured, has had relatively few molluscs named aft er him. One of the strangest honorifi c names to be brought to my att ention was devised by Ernst Marcus in 1957 for a nudibranch belonging to the genus Hallaxa. To honour Alice Pruvot Fol, a fellow worker, Ernst joined up the initial lett ers of her name in such a way that the sounds of the initials A, P and F, when spoken, made up most of the specifi c epithet, apefae! Ernst’s wife, Eveline, admitt ed that she and her husband were happy to use ‘nonsense words’ when creating scientifi c names for molluscs. ‘We tried to avoid using descriptive words describing morphological characters’, she said, and added, ‘we used any words that sounded good or that we liked’ (Marcus, 1987). For some years I was involved with a project that concluded with the publication of a substantial book, Seashells of Eastern Arabia, published in 1995. The driving force be- hind this project was Dr Donald Bosch, well known for his shell-collecting activities in Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) 571 Oman where he and his wife Eloise have found a number of species new to science. Over the years it became customary not only to name a new species aft er him, but also to honour members of his extended family in the same way. In 1992, when Robert Moo- lenbeek, Henk Dekker and I published an article in which we named a new species we had discovered, Umbonium eloiseae, Donald remonstrated with me – in the kindest way, naturally! Why honour his wife, Eloise, again? Tucker Abbott had already done so, in 1973, with his Acteon eloiseae. Were we not aware he and Eloise had a grandson who had never had a species named aft er him? I said we had chosen to name the new Umbonium aft er his wife because it was such a prett y pink colour, so feminine we thought. We as- sured him his grandson would be the next Bosch to be honoured – and he was! On another occasion my choice of a name to honour someone was more felicitous. In 1970 I published an account of the Streptaxidae found on the island of Borneo, in- cluding two new species I had placed in the genus Sinoennea (see Dance, 1970). Aft er corresponding with Dolf van Bruggen, widely known as a leading authority on this family, I decided a new genus was required to accommodate these two species (Dance, 1972). Bruggennea, the name I chose for it, was appropriate and deserved! The idea of having your name immortalized in that of a new species of mollusc has reached a new level in the twenty-fi rst century. It is now acceptable to openly pay some- one to do it. At least one leading malacologist has been prepared to off er his services in this way, the proceeds going to a worthy cause. At a convention I att ended in the USA recently it was possible to place a bid at auction for such a service. Fortunately, I found it easy to resist the temptation to pay for a tiny shell to bear my name. I could not have aff orded it anyway. Names honouring pets Ernst and Eveline Marcus were devoted to nudibranchs, but judging from some of the scientifi c names they proposed for these shell-less molluscs, they may have been equally devoted to their four-legged pets! There was a dog in the Marcus household in Brazil, known as Tecus. One day someone stepped on it, an event marked by Ernst in 1955 when he proposed the name Piseinotecus for a genus of nudibranchs. Virtually a short sentence in Portuguese, this generic name translates as ‘I trod on Tecus’! In 1960, when Ernst and Eveline named a new nudibranch Catriona maua, they honoured a cat. The German near-equivalent of ‘pussy cat’ is ‘Mies’ (also ‘Miez’ or ‘Mieze’), from which Ernst devised Miesea, the name he proposed in 1961 for yet another nudibranch genus. In 1977 Jerry Walls honoured another pet cat when he named a shelled mollusc Conus tribblei. Pseudo-names Sometimes, being honoured with a generic or a specifi c name may not be such a good idea. For personal reasons, I have reservations about names beginning with Pseu- do (meaning false) and ending with an individual’s surname. There is a genus Cald- wellia H. Adams, 1873, and a genus Pseudocaldwellia Germain, 1908. There is a genus Guppya Mörch, 1867, and a genus Pseudoguppya Baker, 1925. There is a genus Austenia Nevill, 1878, and a genus Pseudaustenia Cockerell, 1891. Clearly, there was a Caldwell, a 572 Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) Guppy, and an Austen. It matt ers not who they were or what they did. It does matt er that there also appears to have been a false Caldwell, a false Guppy, and a false Austen! This situation worries me. In 1960 Adolf Zilch proposed Dancea as a replacement name for the pre-occupied Pseudocaelatura Wenz, 1947. Dancea is placed in the Helixarionidae, along with the other genera I have just mentioned. It is unnerving to think that a mala- cologist with a liking for this superfamily and a grudge against me might be tempted to add to it one more generic name – I hesitate to spell it out – implying that there is a false Dance! Hopefully, this may not happen, but Adolf Zilch may have done me no favours by honouring me with a replacement name! Diffi cult names Among names that have struck me as odd are two published in 1857 by Philip Pearsall Carpenter. In his Mazatlan Catalogue he gave the specifi c epithet C-B-Adamsii to a species of Chemnitzia and a species of Liotia (see Carpenter, 1857: 249, 427). More than a century later, Myra Keen, a staunch upholder of the International Rules of Zoological Nomenclature, commented on these names (Keen, 1968: 404, 432). She was well aware that all scientifi c names should be writt en without hyphens, but she chose to ignore the Rules on this occasion because, she said, cbadamsii would have been unpronounceable! I became aware that some scientifi c molluscan names may be diffi cult to pronounce – and to transcribe accurately – when my friend Bunjamin Dharma sent me a species of Amphidromus he had described. It took me several att empts before I completed an ac- curate label for Amphidromus djajasasmitai Dharma, 1993! No doubt I should have had no diffi culty with it if I was a native of Indonesia, as is Mr Machfuds Djajasasmita, but I come from Europe, where personal names are simpler – or are they? At least the name of this Amphidromus includes a reasonable number of vowels, which is more than can be said for the names of some species described by malacolo- gists in Central Europe. The virtue of litt ering scientifi c names with vowels is suffi cient- ly demonstrated by three examples in which they are outnumbered by consonants: Krinikillus dymczeviczii Kaleniczenko, 1851, Turbo czjzeki Zekeli, 1852, and Congeria czjzeki Hörnes, 1868. These specifi c epithets honour real people, I know, but I wish I could pronounce them! I am unlikely to do so as my homeland is an island at the western edge of Europe, where names like Smith, Jones and Brown prevail. I wonder what Myra Keen would have done about names like these? Long names Some names are long, some very long. Hunting for the longest, I have found three genera with 18 lett ers each. In 1912 Pfeff er proposed Octopodoteuthopsis and, in 1978, Radoman proposed both Pontobelgrandiella and Falsibelgrandiella. Harry Lee has for- warded to me another four, of similar length: Cylindroturbonilla Nordsieck, 1977; Nip- ponocrassatella Kuroda and Habe, 1971; Pseudohelenoconcha Germain, 1932; and Pseudo- gracilinenia Loosjes, 1984. The longest specifi c epithets, also with 18 lett ers each, occur in the following names: Circomphalus foliaceolamellosus (Dillwyn, 1817), Pecten duodecim- lamellatus Bronn,1831, Leiostracus cinnamomeolineatus (Moricand, 1841), and Micantapex striatotuberculata (Yokohama, 1928). There are probably others as long or longer. Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) 573 Short names Some names are short, some very short. Generic names formed of four lett ers are not rare. Much rarer are three-lett er names, such as Mya Linnaeus, 1758, Ena Leach, 1831, and Hua Chen, 1943. A name, in order to be validly proposed, must comprise at least two lett ers and it is no surprise that very few two-lett er names have been proposed for molluscs. I can fi nd only three generic names: Io Lea, 1831, Aa Baker, 1925, and Ba Solem, 1983. Two-lett er specifi c epithets are almost as rare, only four having come to my notice: Turbo yo d’Orbigny, 1850, Fasciolaria io Gabb, 1864, Gulella io Verdcourt, 1974, and Aylacostoma ci Simone, 2001. I asked Luiz Simone why he chose the specifi c epithet ci for a freshwater gastropod. He told me that the word ‘ci’ means ‘mother’ in the Tupi vocabulary of the Tapuia Indians living in the Amazon basin. His new species, a mem- ber of the family Thiaridae, is parthenogenetic, so every example of Aylacostoma ci is potentially a mother! Taking names to extremes Occasionally an author may set an unusual precedent when creating scientifi c names for molluscs. For instance, in a single publication, Cott eau described many spe- cies as new to science, but gave 16 of them the same specifi c name, censoriensis, possibly a record (Cott eau, 1853-1857). The Marchese di Monterosato may have set a record of a diff erent kind when he proposed at least 40 helicid generic names, each beginning with the lett er X, in a single treatise (Monterosato, 1893). Few of these names for helicids, it is safe to say, are now in general use. Sexy names This survey would be incomplete without a consideration of names referring to parts of the human body or bodily functions, especially names with a sexual connota- tion. These names are usually explicit and oft en appropriate. Linnaeus started the sex- ual ball rolling in 1758 with Solen vagina. He followed this with Serpula penis (now Bre- chites penis). The genitalia of humans are referred to frequently by some of his succes- sors. Among early examples are Conus circumcisus Born, 1778, Buccinum phallus Gmelin, 1790, Terebra phallus Bosc, 1801, Sunett a vaginalis Menke, 1843, and a near cousin, Su- nett a menstrualis Menke, 1843. A few have reference to women of doubtful virtue. The earliest of these seems to be Venus meretrix Linnaeus, 1758 (for which Lamarck proposed the genus Meretrix in 1799, ‘meretrix’ being Latin for ‘public prostitute’ or ‘harlot’). There is an uncomplimentary meaning, too, behind the name Cytherea impudica Lamarck, 1818. The Latin for ‘unchaste’ is ‘impudicus’ and an ‘unchaste woman’ is ‘femina impu- dica’. Similarly, the Latin for ‘brothel’ is ‘lupanar’ (genitive ‘lupanaris’ which is also the adjective) and this is the inspiration behind the name Pitar lupanaria (Lesson, 1830). The sexual implications of all these names are obvious from the shells they refer to. The opening at the end of the alimentary canal also receives a justifi ed reference in Murex anus Linnaeus, 1758 (now Distorsio anus), though it is possibly less justifi ed in Dosinia anus Philippi, 1848. A more recent name with a possible anal reference is that of a fresh- water mussel from New Guinea, Haasodonta fannyae (Johnson, 1948). Fritz Haas was a 574 Dance. A name is a name is a name. Zool. Med. Leiden 83 (2009) Fig. 7. Conus circumcisus Born, Fig. 8. Pitar lupanaria (Lesson, Fig. 9. Distorsio anus (Linnaeus, 1778. Length 45 mm. 1830). Length 50 mm. 1758). Length 65 mm. world authority to freshwater mussels, hence Haasodonta, the generic name proposed by Don McMichael in 1956. Rumour has it that this name has been interpreted by some to mean ‘Toothless Haas’! It is also possible that the name is a disparaging reference to a peculiar tooth structure of his. The specifi c epithet actually derives from a woman’s Christian name, but ‘fanny’ is also a slang expression for the butt ocks! That meaning, too, has not passed unnoticed. Fortunately, the malicious interpretations of this unu- sual scientifi c name are unlikely to trouble the world authority on freshwater mussels now. The Glory and the Nothing of a Name The fi rst mollusc to be given a valid scientifi c name was Monoculus telemus, a ptero- pod. Deceived by its unusual shape and structure, Linnaeus included it among the wing- less insects in the tenth edition of Systema Naturae. He had received it from a fellow Swede, Erik Brander, a distinguished diplomat with an interest in natural history. Linnaeus named and described many insects received from him. He is also acknowledged by name in Systema Naturae for having provided Linnaeus with the shells of no less than 15 diff er- ent molluscs; no-one is credited with more. A keen shell collector, Brander may have liked to see his name perpetuated in that of a prett y shell, perhaps one of those he had sent to his illustrious countryman. Instead, Linnaeus honoured him with Cimex branderi, a para- sitic bug! In 1816, two years aft er Brander died, Lord Byron published Churchill’s Grave, a poetic commentary on the transient nature of fame. A suitable epitaph for Brander – and a possible corrective for anyone craving nomenclatural immortality - may be found in the fi nal line of Byron’s poem: ‘The Glory and the Nothing of a Name’. What’s in a Name? I have only scratched the surface of the subject, but I may have done enough to show that scientifi c names for molluscs have diff erent meanings for diff erent people