Freida McFadden (But really, Dr Sara Cohen). Cohen treats brain disorders. But who’d trust a doctor who orchestrates a little fictional gaslighting on the side by writing thrillers? So, Cohen did the smart thing. She picked a nom de plume that was a medical in-joke: Freida, as in the Fellowship and Residency Electronic Interactive Database. It worked fine until one hospital colleague recognised her from her author photo. Wonder if that felt like solving a mystery too.
Robert Galbraith (But really, JK Rowling). The author who thinks gender is inflexible publishes some of her books under a man’s name. Rowling says it’s because, after the Harry Potter phenomenon, going with Robert made her feel anonymous for a change, and let her writing “stand or fall on its own merits”. She picked Galbraith because she’d inexplicably wanted to be called Ella Galbraith as a child. The anonymity didn’t last. Fame is harder to shake than a Horcrux.
Lemony Snicket (But really, Daniel Handler). If Gossip Girl had a gloomier, bookish cousin, it would be Lemony Snicket. The name started as a throwaway alias for Handler to receive materials from organisations he found “offensive or funny”. Then, it became a character. Then, 13 books in which terrible things happen to children and we are somehow better for reading about it. The similarity to Jiminy Cricket, Handler admits, was a Freudian slip which, given everything Snicket gets up to, feels entirely appropriate.
Lily Menon (But really, Sandhya Menon). YA queen and author of When Dimple Met Rishi, Menon writes about kissing, girl power and swoony boys. It felt irresponsible to write a spicy grown-up romance novel under the same name. So Lily Menon was born, but under the same Instagram handle, and a new Facebook group called The Swoon Squad. Parents, booksellers, and librarians breathed a collective sigh of relief. Let’s just hope nobody gets their Menons Mismatched.
Viola Shipman (But really, Wade Rouse). Shipman is the author of warm novels about women, kitchens and heirlooms. So, when Rouse walked onstage at his first book event, the shocked audience whispered, “ That’s a man!” They had come expecting Viola and got instead a gay memoirist from the Midwest who wrote under the name of his seamstress grandmother. Either way, fans continue to be attached to charm bracelets.
Julia Quinn (But really, Julie Pottinger). The writer of the Bridgerton books looked at the bookshelf, identified exactly where she wanted to live on it, and reverse-engineered a name to get there. Julie Cotler (and Pottinger by marriage) picked her pseudonym because she wanted her books displayed next to her favourite romance author, Amanda Quick. Now, even her family has started calling her JQ. Lady Whistledown would approve of the audacity.
Yasmina Khadra (But really, Mohammed Moulessehoul). As an Algerian army officer, required to submit manuscripts to military censors, Mohammed Moulessehoul faced a choice: Compliance or silence. He chose a third option: His wife. She suggested he take her two first names, Yasmina and Khadra, as his pseudonym, and then signed his contracts herself, making her, officially, the novelist. Women have taken their husbands’ surnames for centuries. Moulessehoul took his wife’s and won awards. Gentlemen, consider the precedent.
AJ Finn (But really, Daniel Mallory). Mallory was a senior editor at a publishing house; his authors’ books lined the shelves he passed daily. Writing a novel under his real name felt disconcerting. So, he became AJ Finn, named after his cousin Alice Jane and a family French bulldog. The Woman in the Window — his thriller about a woman who can no longer trust what she sees — went to number one. Then an investigation revealed he’d spent years fabricating his own biography. The man who wrote an unreliable narrator had been living as one.
Eva Darrows & Thea de Salle (But really, Hillary Monahan). Most writers have one alter ego. Monahan has two and a colour-coded filing system to keep track of it all. Monahan writes horror. Eva Darrows writes snarky feminist YA. Thea de Salle writes romance featuring queer, pansexual and plus-size characters. Three names, three voices, three kinds of readers who may never want to jump genres. The multiverse, it turns out, was always a literary invention first.
Cleo Coyle (But really, Marc Cerasini & Alice Alfonsi). The married couple plot murders together for a living, which is either the most romantic thing, or excellent grounds for never annoying them at dinner. Their pseudonym, Cleo Coyle, was inspired by their cat Cleocatra. They describe themselves as two chefs in one kitchen, brainstorming the menu together, then cooking up different sections separately. Cleo, meanwhile, gets all the credit and none of the chores.
From HT Brunch, May 23, 2026
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