In The Rabbit of Usk there's often confusion around the Poached Egg Schism. Certainly, over the years history might have been bent a little, imaginations run a little wild in desperate search for explanation and sometimes those explanations might seem a trifle ridiculous to the initiated. However, amongst the first attempts at the written word there can be found what the more recent iterations of us people call Glyph's, and we're not talking the architectural glyph we're talking the stylized representation of a communication. Something that speaks to a cultural understanding without which the glyph would make no sense at all. The No Smoking Sign without any writing on it, is a glyph. The wretched Happy Face is a glyph, so is the Sad Face. The thing about ancient Glyph's, or Petroglyphs, a person has to go to the professionals who've stirred the ashes through learned generations in order to have them explained. No guarantee they know what they're talking about but such is the nature of the erudite. All the same, not even a writer of pulp can just go round making stuff up without providing some kind of provenance otherwise things go very awry and narrative comes to a grinding halt. Suffice to say that of several possible interpretations the Poached Egg Schism is one interpretation of an ancient glyph. The other interpretations include "Sun-like," "no one really knows, bit of a mystery," "according to JCD Lawrence they're concentric circles of a ritualistic nature possibly to do with seasonal movements or phases of the moon."
As a young impressionable but very open minded, fairly athletic youth, well
steeped in local lore, your writer of pulp knew exactly what the ancient glyph
was. It was obviously a poached egg and anyone who couldn't see it as a poached
egg was probably suffering from heat exhaustion or having a poor reaction to the
local water after drinking far too much of it. To the assertion that three, four
or maybe five thousand years ago the egg had not yet been poached in that
particular part of the world, your writer of pulp answered, "It's a well known
fact that in the promised land of the Sphinx Sabean no one would be seen dead
poaching an egg," or words to that effect. And then he went on a bit in a
somewhat rambling manner about why that was and in his explanation he might have
exaggerated his own understandings of Sabean Diaspora. "They quarreled over who
would build the Sphinx for Pharaoh and Pharaoh who was wise beyond his tender
years, said 'if you like poached eggs you're not allowed to build the Sphinx,
you have to build the Pyramid.' The more gentle, the more interesting Sabeans,
not hide bound by routine, even if they did sort of like poached eggs were fed
up with building pyramids and naturally they wanted to work on the Sphinx."
Never nice to be patronized, especially by some toffee nosed smart arse from
England in white hunter style sun hat and shorts. "You obviously don't know why
there's only one Sphinx on the banks of the Nile," your young writer of pulp
shot back in a manner that was mistaken for either Chicken Pox or Mumps, could
have been Whooping Cough, but on that particular occasion some kind of medical
professional was unfairly called upon to settle the dispute.