The Plant Name Game. Hooker’s Lips and Other Curiosities

The Plant Name Game. Hooker’s Lips and Other Curiosities

Thanks to the work of Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus, the question of what's in a name has more than one answer. 

In the 1700s, Linnaeus came up with the naming convention called binomial nomenclature. Since then, every living organism on Earth —not just plants — is classified by both a two-part formal, scientific name and a common name. 

The scientific name reflects the genus (broader category) and species (specific type), usually based on Latin or Greek. That’s why the common name “sugar maple” refers to Acer (genus for all maples; the word means pointed and likely refers to the tree’s lobe-shaped leaves) saccharum (sugar).

While binomial nomenclature aims for precision and clarity — and it’s how everyone worldwide can understand what’s being described, no matter the language spoken — it has also given rise to some oddball identities.

Consider Durio zibenthinus. That’s the scientific name for the durian fruit, which is so pungent some say it smells like garbage. Zibenthinus refers to the civet, a nocturnal, broadly cat-looking mammal native to Asia and Africa. The civet’s musk, produced by glands near the animal’s genitals, has been variously described as smelling like a barnyard, cheese, or just plain repulsive, meaning that while the name fits the plant, it’s hardly complimentary.

Or what about Amorphophallus titanum, a giant flowering plant native to Sumatra usually called titan arum. Though it’s also one of the world’s smelliest plants, it got its name from its unusually shaped flower. Given that "Amorphophallus" combines the Greek words for "shapeless" and "phallus," the name doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

Is It a Person or a Plant?

As for common plant names, they can be no less peculiar or fascinating. 

How do you feel about Dead Man's Fingers (Xylocarpus granatum)? The long, finger-like pods of this mangrove tree led to its eerie moniker. Or Stinking Roger (Alliaria petiolate), the name assigned to a variety of different albeit equally foul-smelling plants from different corners of the globe, or the aptly named Naked Man Orchid (trust me).  

And then there’s Hooker’s Lips (Psychotria elata). 

Sure enough, the flowers of this Central American native do indeed resemble a slightly puckered human mouth, red and fleshy. But before you get worked up about the rest of the name, please note that the plant honors esteemed British botanist Sir William Jackson Hooker, first director of London’s famed Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. (He’s also commemorated in a number of other plants, including a genus of tropical moss called Hookeria, but even that doesn’t have quite the cachet as Hooker’s Lips. His son, Joseph Dalton Hooker, succeeded him at Kew and inspired a great number of plant names as well.)

Name Your Favorite Botanist

Actually, it’s not unusual for botanists to be paid homage this way, though it’s more likely they’ll have an entire genus named for them than a single species. That’s the case with:

• Zinnias (Zinnia spp), named after Johann Gottfried Zinn, an 18th-century German physician and botanist.
• Dahlias (Dahlia spp.), whose name honors Swedish botanist Anders Dahl (a student of Carl Linnaeus).
• Begonias (Begonia spp.), a tribute to French naturalist Michel Bégon, who financially supported the work of French monk and botanist Charles Plumier. Plumier documented more than 4,000 plants and more than 1,000 animals from the Caribbean and Central America in the late 17th century. Plumier is credited with reviving the ancient Greek custom of commemorating people with plant names; his namesake plant, Plumeria (Plumeria; L.), was first described by none other than Linnaeus, who christened it in Plumier’s honor.

You can also add forsythia (Forsythia spp., named after Scottish botanist William Forsyth) and magnolia (Magnolia spp., for French botanist Pierre Magnol) to the vast list.

Even amateur botanists have been immortalized like this. 

When Joel Roberts Poinsett, the first U.S. minister (ambassador) to the newly independent Mexico, stumbled upon the crimson-leaved plant during one of his trips there, he probably didn’t imagine it would become one of the quintessential symbols of the American holiday season. He did hope to popularize it, however, by bringing it back to his home state of South Carolina. It wasn’t until he sent a specimen to the Philadelphia botanist Robert Buist (who subsequently introduced the plant in Europe in the 1830s as Euphorbia Poinsettia) that it really took off. 

As for that often-finicky bougainvillea that brightens your backyard? It takes its name from French admiral Louis Antoine de Bougainville. He led a scientific expedition around the world in the mid-1700s and his crew first documented the bougainvillea while anchored near Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The botanist on the expedition, Philibert Commerson, is credited with formally naming the plant in honor of the admiral.

Beyond Mere Mortals 

Immortalizing mere humans by naming a plant for them is nothing to be sneezed at. But there may be hundreds of plants whose names are intended to give eternal life to Greek and Roman deities and related myths. Some of the better known include: 

• Iris (Iris). Borrowed from the Greek goddess of the rainbow, Iris. 
• Narcissus (Narcissus pseudonarcissus). The name of a young man in Greek mythology who fell in love with his own reflection and drowns.
• Hyacinth (Hyacinthus L.). Named after Hyacinthus, a Spartan prince loved by both Apollo and Zephyr. The flower is said to have sprung from the prince's blood after his accidental death.
• Jupiter’s beard (Centranthus ruber). Named after the Roman king of the gods.
• Heliotrope (Heliotrope): Named after Helios, the Greek sun god, and tropos, meaning "turn" in Greek.

Regardless of what their plants are really called or who they’re named for, some gardeners play the plant name game themselves, getting a kick out of assigning them “pet” names. And why not? If it helps you remember to take good care of your flowers, crops, and houseplants — hey, Audrey, have I watered you today? — it’s worth it. And it’s no more odd than a naked man or a stinky Roger.