Kabyle, Turkish, Arabic and Latin-speaking parents never needed to consult one another to land on the same idea. Each of these languages has a name that simply means star, and in each it has been used for centuries. It is one of the few intuitions shared by almost all the cultures around the Mediterranean.
The Pleiades cluster. Credit: NASA, ESA, AURA/Caltech, Palomar Observatory, public domain
Itri, the Amazigh star
In Tamazight, itri means star. The word is found in Kabyle as well as in Tarifit, and also appears under the spellings Idri or Ideri depending on the region.
It is a short, unisex name that is easy to pronounce in French, and it has the rare advantage of being transparent: it needs no explanation for anyone who speaks the language, and it keeps a touch of mystery for everyone else. Among families looking for an Amazigh name that isn't one of the big classics, it comes up often, and for good reasons.
Yıldız, from Old Turkic
Turkish has its exact equivalent. Yıldız means star, and comes from Old Turkic yulduz, which already carried the same meaning over a thousand years ago.
It is a very common girl's name in Turkey, and is also used as a surname. In France it is mostly found in families of Turkish origin, and its pronunciation is less difficult than it looks: the first syllable is said with a muted i, close to the sound you make in French in "je" without the consonant.
Soraya, or the seven sisters
Soraya is the best known of the three in France, and it is also the one with the most precise origin.
The name comes from the Arabic Thurayyā, which doesn't refer to a single star but to a cluster: the Pleiades, that small tight group visible to the naked eye in the constellation Taurus. Six or seven stars can be made out depending on the quality of the sky and of your eyesight, hence the nickname of the seven sisters that Greek mythology also gave them.
The name traveled through pre-Islamic Arabic poetry, then through Persian culture, where the stars held a central place in the imagination. It arrived in France in the twentieth century and has never left.
There is something fitting about this choice: naming your daughter after a group of stars rather than a single one is naming a family constellation as much as a person.
Estelle, Stella and the Latin line
The Latin branch is the most direct of all. Stella, in Latin, means star, with no detour or metaphor. Estelle is its French form, Stella the Italian form left unchanged, and the same root is found in the Spanish Estrella.
Estelle had a real peak in France in the 1970s and 1980s, then declined, and has been slowly coming back in recent years, as is often the case with names that skipped a generation.
Nour, Najma and the family of luminous names
Alongside the names that say exactly star, there is a second, broader family built around light.
Nour, in Arabic, means light, and it is today one of the most popular unisex names in France. Najma comes from najm, star, and remains rarer in France than in the Maghreb. On the Latin side, Lucie and Luc descend from lux, light, which quietly places them in the same family without anyone thinking about it.
This kinship explains why these names work well together in a sibling set. Estelle and Lucie, Itri and Nour: the echo is there, but it stays discreet enough not to turn into the forced matching that parents generally want to avoid.
Why stars, everywhere?
The convergence is no coincidence. Before electricity, the night sky was part of everyone's daily life, not just astronomers'. People found their way by it, sowed by it, and counted the months by it.
Stars also combined two qualities that parents look for in a name. They are visible to everyone, so the name speaks immediately. And they are stable: they return to the same place every year, which makes them a promise of permanence that is easy to understand, even for those who have never read a star chart.
Flower names go out of fashion; star names much less so.
Photo: Michael C. Shaw, National Park Service, public domain
The reverse gesture
For some years now, certain parents have been going the other way: rather than giving the child the name of a star, they give a star the name of the child. Some registries let you buy a star and give it a name, with a certificate and a star chart for the date of birth.
One clarification is needed, because it is rarely made clearly: these registries are private and commemorative. The International Astronomical Union is the only body that assigns official designations, and it does not recognize names sold by third parties. No one becomes the owner of anything in the sky.
That said, the object serves the same purpose as an engraved plaque or a tree planted for a birth: it marks a date and gives you an excuse to look up. Many families give it for that reason, without kidding themselves about the rest.
Choosing a star name today
If the idea appeals to you, here are a few practical pointers. Itri and Yıldız remain rare in France, which is an advantage or a drawback depending on what you are looking for. Soraya is established, well recognized, and won't surprise anyone at school. Estelle is making a comeback, so it could be less rare in ten years than it is today.
And if you want to check what you are choosing, the test is simple: the Pleiades are visible from November to March, fairly high in the sky, and can be spotted without any instrument. A small blurry patch that turns into a handful of stars as soon as you look at it slightly out of the corner of your eye. It is exactly what the people who invented these names saw, with the same eyes and without any instrument.
And if the name you end up choosing is something else entirely, the detour won't have cost you anything.
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