Ode to Jungftak, et al.

Nihila R. Tikel
SpecGram Institute for Cryptolexicography
Loch Ness, Scotland

Reference works throughout the world contain entries for people, things, and concepts that have never existed. The canonical cryptolexicographic example is the jungftak, a supposedly mythical Persian bird with only one wing. Mated pairs are able to connect by means of a bony hook (male) and eyelet (female), enabling them to fly. While it is biologically implausible in the extreme that such a creature could exist, the myth of such a creature is quite reasonable. The phoenix, also found in Persian mythology, is even less biologically plausible, but that myth is quite well-attested.

Other famous cryptolexemes include the Maori fife-drum, the zzxjoanw; the rock-eating German Steinlaus (“stone louse”, Petrophaga lorioti); the Roman football-like game of apopudobalia; and English esquivalience, the willful avoidance of official duties. None exist, except on paper.

Cryptobiographies also exist in reference works, including Lillian Mountweazel, famous non-photographer of rural mailboxes; Jakob Mierscheid, a non-member of the German parliament; Guglielmo Baldini, an Italian non-composer; Dag Henrik Esrum-Hellerup, a Danish non-composer; and Metaf Üsic, the Turkish non-scholar of musical beards.

Rarely, entire scholarly cryptotexts have been found, such as Anatomie et Biologie des Rhinogrades, by Harald Stümpke, a detailed biological description of the Rhinogradentia non-order of nose-using non-rodents. There is even one documented case of an entire cryptofield, Stratificational Linguistics, a non-subfield of linguistics.

The mainstream media occasionally reports on these so-called “fictitious entries” in reference works, perpetuating the cover story that they are added to reference works to aid the detection of plagiarism. This is of course ridiculous; straightforward techniques of literary criticism are more than adequate to detect plagiarism. So, why do the powers-that-be push this story so forcefully?

Also of note, the weekly SpecGram editorial board meeting minutes indicate that we have intended to publish a survey article such as this one every five years since 1909, yet this seems to be the only one anyone can find. Why should that be?

The only explanation that makes any sense is that all of these people, things, concepts, and publication plans did indeed exist, but were erased by time travelers changing our timeline. Most of our evidence for them must come from reference works that traveled with the time travelers (and were thus unaffected by changes in the time stream). A moment’s thought makes it clear that these must not be finished reference works—for what would it likely matter if one lone copy of some dictionary contained an entry for jungfak? Who would even know? No, the documents that travel with the chrononauts must be early drafts of reference works! This is the inevitable result of the vicious lexicographic arms race that rages behind the genteel façade of polite lexicographic conferences and trade shows. Scholars know that something as small as being able to reliably and properly apply macrons to every Latinate etymon will double or triple dictionary sales—at the direct expense of rivals.

It is all too easy to imagine a gaggle of gung-ho capitalist lexicographers leaping into a time machine to research details of pronunciation or orthography. While on safari, someone steps on a butterfly or uses the wrong verb form when speaking to a local, and the next thing you know, the clever story of the jungftak never takes hold in Persia. The only ironic remnant is in the stacks of early drafts the researchers carried with them to and fro in time.

Poor Jungftak, we hardly knew ye!

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