Guidelines

Guidelines suggested for common names

CAN's

1. We can replace "existing" names if there's anything wrong with them. Now is the time to do it! We should be hesitant to replace names that real people happily use in real life—but names that have been widely used in print only are on the chopping block.

2. We can propose a single name covering all species in a species group, especially for a cryptic species group.

3. We can dignify mushrooms by bestowing original words on them. We are all tired of the proliferation of scientific names, but we don't have to be so traumatized that we'll never compose a new word ourselves. What is an "oak", or a "daisy" or an "owl" or a "beetle"? Those words are meaningless—except as common names for those particular organisms; in that capacity they're wildly meaningful. In fact, most of the most successful common names are like this. Animal and plant names, especially, are overflowing with "their own" words. Common names are more successful for those kingdoms and we should look to them for inspiration in this way and others.

An uncomfortably high portion of mushrooms have hand-me-down names, copying verbatim an English word for an object that looks vaguely similar ("funnel", "bonnet", "parchment", "parasol", "vase", "tooth", "ear", "jelly"). They aren't all bad, but the proportion should be lower. Letting hand-me-downs be the rule rather than the exception demeans mushrooms, treating them as mere counterfeits of other things. It's not a vase, it's a mushroom! Lego names—original combinations of unoriginal words (e.g. "woodwax", "stalkball")—are usually better. On the other hand, when they try too hard to describe the mushroom ("brittlestem") they can result in awkwardly repetitive or misleading names. If a Russula has grey-tinted gills, we might end up with the "grey-gilled brittlegill", which sounds awful. If a Pholiota has sharp scales, we might end up with the "sharp-scaled scalecap", which also sounds awful. If we grace the groupings with their own words, species names start to sound good: "grey-gilled russula", "sharp-scaled phole".

Shortening scientific names is a fruitful way to compose new words: "pseudo" from/for Pseudobaeospora; "tropse" from/for Tricholomopsis. French-speakers have taken great advantage. Their language has already led to two of our favorite names, "chanterelle" and "morel", and several more of their names are already perfectly suited for otherwise-missing English names: "hydnelle", "xylaire", "strophaire".

4. We can re-use English-language names from other continents for different North American species. There are too many vicariant species to stick "American" in front of every one of ours. We are already in the habit of reminding one other that different continents have (slightly) different species. We don't need to repeat it every time we refer to a mushroom. We can even use the same name for totally different species across continents, if they're both obscure or if there are better alternatives for the other name. In other words, we should decide whether we're treating our names in a local namespace or a global one, and we can't choose a global one.

DO's

Names should ideally be...

1. hierarchical. Not necessarily mirroring phylogenetic taxonomy—that's what scientific names are for—but maintaining some kind of a folk taxonomy. Mushrooms that seem similar should have names that group them. Most names consist of a descriptor (e.g. "amethyst") followed by a grouping (e.g. "deceiver"). These often, but not always, correspond to species and genus (not every genus needs its own grouping; some deserve multiple). "Milk stalk" is a descriptive name for Mycena galopus, but "milkdrop bonnet" is better, because it places the species among the hundreds of other mycenoid species that look quite similar. If a name ends with a thing, the mushroom should be that thing. We can't be calling Polyozellus multiplex a "blue chanterelle" while saying it's not a chanterelle. "Polyozelle" is better.

2. consistent. Use "milkcap" or "milky" across the board, not both. Use "-stemmed" or "-stalked" across the board, not both. Use "mushroom" when it produces distinct mushrooms, "fungus" when it doesn't, and of course neither when possible.

3. short. Nobody wants to have to say they've found a "western hardwood chicken-of-the-woods". Few names should have 8 syllables and very few should have 9. To facilitate this, groupings should almost always be 3 syllables or less. None of the groupings of the top 216 most commonly observed birds in the USA (as of August 2022) are longer than 3 syllables. Bird #217 is the "phainopepla", which is the only species of its kind, so no danger of more syllables. Contrast that with our mushrooms, where six of the top fifteen have or imply 4-syllable or longer grouping-names. So do most species in the most charismatic and famous genus we have, the "amanitas". Frankly, this is embarrassing. We're going to have to bite some bullets and find some shorter replacements to use in species names. It might be too bold to suggest calling Amanita species "eggcaps", but we should seriously consider similar proposals for other genera.

Many shortenings are easy choices. "Honey", not "honey mushroom"; "trich", not "tricholoma"; "bird's-nest", not "bird's nest fungus"; "waxcap", not "waxycap". Typographically, we should avoid spaces when hyphens will do, and avoid hyphens when one continuous word will do—usually as a grouping-name: "witches'-butter", not "witches' butter"; "turkeytail", not "turkey-tail".

4. euphonic. They should roll off the tongue and sound good. Keep in mind that what sounds bad at first can become pleasant and comfortable after repeated usage, and vice versa. But it's not entirely subjective. "White green-algae coral" (Multiclavula mucida) definitely doesn't roll off the tongue, "scumlover" definitely does (although that name has its own problems). Better "angel wings" than "angel's wings". This is also something to consider for how multiple names play with each other. "Waxcap" and "milkcap" sound totally fine, but when we look at a long list of mushrooms, perhaps including "fibercaps", "webcaps", "domecaps", "scalecaps", "fieldcaps", "inkcaps", and "conecaps", we realize how tiresome that suffix can become. Names should work in the singular and plural. What would you call it, one "plum-and-custard"? Two "plums-and-custards"?

5. useful for ID. If the mushroom has a distinctive feature, the name should refer to it. The name "mahogany trich" is accurate for Tricholoma batschii (the species we've been calling T. fracticum), but perhaps not ideal because the cap color is a less distinctive feature than the abrupt division of the stem pigment. The name should not point more directly to another species. Cystolepiota seminuda has been called the "bearded dapperling", which is not misleading by itself, but most other Cystolepiota species have more of a beard, so it's a bad name.

6. evocative of the mushroom. The name "scumlover" refers to a specific feature of Multiclavula mucida, but it evokes something dirty, sloppy, and degenerate, unlike the bright, clean, delicate, precisely arranged fruitings we usually find. The descriptor "onion-stalk" evokes the taste and smell and texture and layers of an onion, which is jarring for Leucocoprinus cepistipes. The descriptor "marshmallow" is much better aligned with the actual mushroom. Distinctive species should get distinctive names. Battarrea phalloides is ultra-distinctive, so it should have a more compelling name than "scaly-stalked puffball".

7. well-aligned with real-life usage. Common, remarkable, and/or sought-after species should get the best and the shortest names. Gymnopus dryophilus is ultra-common, so it should have a shorter, catchier name than "oak-loving toughshank". Conversely, uncommon, difficult-to-identify species should have names that sound more abstruse. Pholiota stratosa could be called the "layered phole", using a comfortable English word to reference the same layered scales (strata) as the scientific epithet, but that might make it sound too easy. As an obscure species that doesn't look all that obviously layered, it might be more evocative to call it the less comfortable "stratose phole".

8. based on the epithet, if convenient. We don't want to overcomplicate things. It's nice to be able to recall the scientific name from the common name, or vice versa. The mycologist who described the taxon may have known it intimately and may have put a lot of effort into choosing its name; we might not want to trample over that. For Stropharia coronilla, "garland stropharia" is fine, but why not reflect the epithet and use "crown stropharia" (or, much better, "crown strophaire") instead?

9. established. I'm intentionally placing this one low on this list, because I think familiar names are causing a lot of problems. But, other things being equal, if people are already using the name, or a similar name to it, that's good.

DON'T's

Names should ideally...

1. not be suggested for species that nobody can recognize in the field. That effort amounts to a waste of time, a waste of names, and a waste of an opportunity to associate the species with one informed, useful name, later, after someone gets to know it. We are learning our mushrooms quickly.

2. not include a scientific name verbatim. The name "crown stropharia" goes down the drain if taxonomists move the species out of Stropharia, and it already leaves the entirely equally stropharioid Leratiomyces species in the lurch. We can drop excess syllables and solve both problems by treating species in both genera as "strophaires". "Pholiota" has appeared in common names for mushrooms that now belong in, at least, Agrocybe, Cortinarius, Galerina, Gymnopilus, Hemipholiota, Kuehneromyces, Phaeolepiota, and Phaeomarasmius. They can't all be "pholiotas", but they can all be "pholes". We should certainly make occasional exceptions when a scientific name is well-established in casual conversation, sounds good, is on firm scientific footing, and there isn't a better alternative—"russula" is great for Russula.

3. not sound like a description. When a name starts with a common English word that describes its appearance, it sounds like a description. "Grey inkcap" is a bad name for Coprinopsis atramentaria, because if we say "this is a grey inkcap", the listener won't know whether we really mean it's C. atramentaria, or we just mean it's an inkcap that's grey in color. It's still a bit confusing even for features that actually pick out the species, like "black-staining polypore". Listeners can't tell what exactly we're communicating. We can use an alternative that sounds less description-like and more name-like, like "blackening polypore".

4. not be overly goofy or demeaning. The names "totally tedious tubaria" (Tubaria furfuracea), "General Tso's slimecap" (Limacella glischra), and "chicken lips" (Leotia viscosa) are cute nicknames we have every reason to keep around. But they aren't appropriate for "the" most standard common name. Imagine for every species that it's going to be critically endangered, and its common name is going to have to be used in a formal proposal asking for real resources to be diverted to its conservation. Sure, a lot of great common names are cute (some are even puns), which I love individually—but the proportion shouldn't be too high. The line between engaging the public and embarrassing mycology might be blurry, but it does exist somewhere. We can and should still give taxa nicknames left and right... just separately from the common names and the scientific names.

Names should...

5. NEVER be word-level suffixes of other names. We can't call Desarmillaria caespitosa the "ringless honey mushroom" and still call Armillaria mellea simply the "honey mushroom". If something is a ringless honey mushroom, it's also a honey mushroom. If we call Tylopilus rubrobrunneus the "reddish-brown bitter bolete" and T. felleus simpy the "bitter bolete", we're going to have a bad time. When someone finds a T. rubrobrunneus, we won't be able to answer whether it's a bitter bolete or not. An exception is the "false" prefix, because nobody would assume that a "false chanterelle" is a chanterelle.

6. NEVER imply edibility for a significantly toxic species. One old book named Paxillus involutus the "brown chanterelle", which is dangerous.

CASE IN POINT

Trichaptum biforme is a hyper-common, distinctive species found in bulk throughout the year across all of Eastern North America (and present in the West too). It's known in most resources as the "violet-toothed polypore". This name is a disaster. It implies the mushroom is a polypore that also has teeth, but that's not quite what's going on. It starts as a polypore, and the pore walls gradually transition into teeth. The name implies it's specifically the teeth that are violet, but the teeth aren't much more violet than any other part. The name is quite dull, a combination of three words that are ubiquitous among mushroom names. This doesn't suit a mushroom that's so distinctive in hyperabundance, appearance, and even phylogeny (among the dozens of bracket genera in the Hymenochaetales, Trichaptum is one of only two common light-colored ones).

Most ruinously, the name becomes unmanageably long as soon as we account for T. biforme being only one species in a genus of many. It's obvious that our Trichaptum species should all have comparable common names (they all share the violet tint and variations upon that remarkable fertile surface). Calling T. biforme the "violet-toothed polypore" and T. abietinum the "purplepore bracket" is a joke—the names sound unrelated, but mean the same thing, and don't tell us anything about the distinction. Both names are about equally misleading (or accurate) for both species. So, what do we get—T. biforme being the "hardwood violet-toothed polypore", T. abietinum the "conifer violet-toothed polypore"? Those are lousy eight- and nine-syllable descriptions, not names we're going to say repeatedly in the woods.

We need something shorter, more distinctive, and less misleading. Without any good candidates in play already, let's look for an original word, particularly one that evokes something familiar about the mushroom. Let's make something newer and shorter, with less baggage, from the words we were already looking at—"violore". It obviously comes from a contraction of "violet-toothed polypore", but the etymology isn't the point—a common name should work as a standalone word. It evokes violet and it doesn't mean anything else. We get "hardwood violore" and "conifer violore", names that are actually starting to sound like real common names. The names sound weird and special, and the mushroom is weird and special.

Note: It now seems doubtful that hardwood and conifer substrates reliably distinguish T. biforme from T. abietinum. So, in the list of proposed names, T. biforme is listed as "common violore" and T. abietinum is left off, pending a better understanding of their field characteristics.

Next:

Specific names proposed for consideration