I own a Honda — a 2018 Clarity plug-in hybrid — and I get regular offers from the automaker to upgrade. (The Clarity was discontinued in 2021. I suppose it’s not to soon to start looking for its replacement.) Last week I received this enticement in my inbox:
The reward, if you can call it that, is $20 off my next oil change, as long as I schedule that service before November 15, 2024. As it happens, I’d just retrieved my Clarity from an expensive routine check-up when that email arrived, so I’m finding it pretty easy to turn down the offer.
I’m curious about the model name, though, which I’ve been spotting on and off since early in the year. I made a lame little joke about it on Bluesky back in February:
To which Gregory Maupin responded with a far more sophisticated and Shakespearean allusion:
Elizabeth Tamny took another literary detour:
Here we are at the end of September, and I’m still wondering why this car — any car, really — should be called a “Prologue.” Prologue to what? A thrilling adventure? A better car? Chapter One?
Etymologically, a prologue is a “speech beforehand”; in Greek drama the prologue was spoken by one or two characters before the chorus appeared. In modern book publishing, a prologue is typically found in fictional works and is written from a character’s point of view. It’s different from an introduction (usually found in nonfiction, written in the author’s voice, often summarizes the content that follows); a foreword is a prefatory section written by someone other than the author; and a preface is a short introductory essay written by the author, often to explain his or her purpose in writing the book.
This isn’t the first time Honda has dabbled in anticipatory nomenclature. One of the many Hondas I’ve owned over the years was the sporty Prelude, a name that always struck me as faintly smutty. (“Prelude” is derived from Latin elements that literally mean “foreplay.” Of the 618 live and 1,095 dead PRELUDE trademarks in the U.S. database, one is for waterbed frames, one is for an HIV test kit, and two are for “personal lubricants.” On eBay you can score a vintage Prelude “full-body massager” made by Windmere.)
According to a Wikipedia entry, the Prelude name was originally trademarked by Toyota, “but was amicably given to Honda for use.” How generous! And now, it seems, the Prelude will have an encore: Motor Trend reports that the model name is likely to be revived in the near future, this time for a hybrid coupe.
Honda model names over the years have ranged from the utilitarian (Civic, Pilot) to the alphanumeric (ZR-V, WR-V, CR-V) to the daffy, of which my favorite examples are the Life Dunk (2000 to 2004) and the That’s (sic!)1. For even more delightfully surprising car names, see my 2007 post “The Naked, the Bimbo, and the Deliboy.”
Perhaps they got interested in alliteration. In decreasing order of size, they offer these models: Pilot, Passport, Prologue.*
Some other name notes from Honda:
The minivan is the Odyssey, surely a description of traveling anywhere at all in the company of several children.
Their version of the testosterone truck (not a particularly excellent offering of same) is the Ridgeline, which describes approximately 0% of the terrain over or near which it will be driven.
The mini-est SUV is (was?) the RAV4, which always sounded vaguely berserkr but is in fact a tame little suburban vehicle.
And their more obviously sensible models are the Civic and Accord.
* How quaint that they didn't spell it Prolog, haha.
So you don’t think they break down the sounds and meanings into chunks for an overall associations. Eg: “pro” = yes, affirming, up + “log” = record, document, substance. Assiciation: Optimistic groundedness.