“When I was memorizing the names of the stars, part of the purpose was to help them each to be more particularly the particular star each one was supposed to be. That’s basically a Namer’s job. Maybe you’re supposed to make earthlings feel more human.”

[...]

“I think your mythology would call them fallen angels. War and hate are their business, and one of their chief weapons is un-Naming—making people not know who they are. If someone knows who he is, really knows, then he doesn’t need to hate. That’s why we still need Namers, because there are places throughout the universe like your planet Earth. When everyone is really and truly Named, then the Echthroi will be vanquished.” “But what—” “Oh, earthling, earthling, why do you think Blajeny called for you? There is war in heaven, and we need all the help we can get. The Echthroi are spreading through the universe. Every time a star goes out another Echthros has won a battle. A star or a child or a farandola—size doesn’t matter, Meg. The Echthroi are after Charles Wallace and the balance of the entire universe can be altered by the outcome.” “But Progo, what does this have to do with our test—and with three Mr. Jenkinses—it’s insane.” Proginoskes responded coldly and quietly. “Precisely.” Into the cold and quiet came the sound of the school buses arriving, doors opening, children rushing out and into the school building. Charles Wallace was one of those children. Proginoskes moved quietly in her mind through the roar. “Don’t misunderstand me, Meg. It is the ways of the Echthroi which are insane. The ways of the Teachers are often strange, but they are never haphazard. I know that Mr. Jenkins has to have something to do with it, something important, or we wouldn’t be here.” Meg said, unhappily, “If I hate Mr. Jenkins whenever I think of him, am I Naming him?” Proginoskes shifted his wings. “You’re Xing him, just like the Echthroi.” “Progo!” “Meg, when people don’t know who they are, they are open either to being Xed, or Named.”

[...]

“But how do I do it? How do I Name Mr. Jenkins when all I think of when I see him is how awful he is?” Proginoskes sighed and flung several wings heavenwards so violently that he lifted several feet, materialized, and came down with a thud. “There’s a word—but if I say it you’ll just misunderstand.” “You have to say it.” “It’s a four-letter word. Aren’t four-letter words considered the bad ones on your planet?” “Come on. I’ve seen all the four-letter words on the walls of the washroom at school.” Proginoskes let out a small puff. “Luff.” “What?” “Love. That’s what makes persons know who they are. You’re full of love, Meg, but you don’t know how to stay within it when it’s not easy.” “What do you mean?” “Oh—you love your family. That’s easy. Sometimes when you feel awful about somebody, you get back into rightness by thinking about—well, you seem to be telling me that you got back into love once by thinking about Charles Wallace."

— A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L'Engle (37%)