Allium Cepa

A homeopathic remedy used to treat symptoms of the common cold and allergies. It would also work nicely as the name of a kind, older woman in a YA dystopian novel who is deathly allergic to scientifically backed medicine.

Arnica

A homeopathic remedy used to treat muscle aches. To be fair, this one kind of works. But for the love of God, take some damn Advil.

Scientist #2

A minor character in Divergent. I bet she doesn’t believe in homeopathy.

Agaricus Muscarius

A homeopathic remedy. But if you’re writing a YA dystopian novel, this would work for the name of the protagonist’s harp-prodigy brother, who is killed by the authoritarian government in chapter three. Just spitballing here.

Clove

Both. But the remedy will make your stomach ache worse, and the character was killed in The Hunger Games, so, all around, kind of a dud. Instead, try Pepto Bismol and 27 Dresses.

Ignatia Amara

A homeopathic remedy used to treat the stress and anxiety that stems from the realization that your mom wholeheartedly believes in this shit. Could also work in a YA dystopian novel as the name of a spoiled princess from a starving desert kingdom.

Poppy

Both. A character in City of Ember and a homeopathic medicine better known as “opium.” Luckily, my mom did not give this to me.

Rhus Tox

A homeopathic remedy used to treat joint pain. It’s so ineffective that they wouldn’t even use it in a YA dystopian novel.

Rue

A character in The Hunger Games. Not a homeopathic remedy, but a name homeopathic anti-vax parents in Park Slope would definitely give their firstborn.

Doctor

A minor character in The Darkest Minds. Also, someone homeopathic parents should call first when their kid is sick, but never do.

Four

A character in Divergent. Also, the number of times I told my mom that the remedies she claimed worked on me growing up were just placebo before my therapist told me it was probably best to let it go.

Cassia

A protagonist in the book Matched. Could also be the second identity of the homeopathic practitioner who drooled while my mom wrote her a two-hundred-dollar check for having me hold a bottle of essential oils and rub my fingers together, and then told us that the essential oils would significantly improve the birth defect that limits my breathing to one side of my nose. Sure, Jan.

I think Jan was her government name.

Aleve

Neither. But this OTC pain reliever actually works and would be a beautiful name for a baby girl who will one day lead her people to freedom from thinking that a few white pellets made from sugar and fucking nothing else will cure asthma.