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Winter's TaleThe atrocity of the day is novelist Mark Helprin‘s plea for eternal copyright, and it comes to you courtesy of the conservative Claremont Institute, where Helprin is a Fellow.

“Conservative,” of course, isn’t the word to describe Helprin’s radical wishes. Never mind the American tradition of limited copyright terms as a way to promote the arts and the rest. Halperin acknowledges certain social benefits from this rather Jeffersonian philosophy, but in the end seems to regard literature as like real estate—something that the proprietors should be able to own forever. Odd. How many houses are built partly with timber from the one next door (a metaphor that if not used before, should have been)? Even the headline of the Helprin piece is a touch misleading: “A Great Idea Lives Forever. Shouldn’t Its Copyright?” You don’t copyright ideas per se—you copyright the expression of them, and in fact, Helprin’s own essay notes: “Mozart and Neil Diamond may have begun with the same idea, but that a work of art is more than an idea is confirmed by the difference between the ‘Soave sia il vento’ and ‘Kentucky Woman.’”

Close to home

For me, the above debate is more than theoretical. I’ve worked on and off for years on some fiction that I’m now marketing, and that, yes, has commercial potential, according to some pros who’ve seen it. But, no, I haven’t created any land or buildings. From the very idea of a Washington novel (thank you, Henry Adams) to a Robert Penn Warren quote (“Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something”), I’ve benefited from the genius of others within the bounds of ethics and fair use. In doing this, I’ve actually been far less reliant on past work than, say, Jon Clinch, who built a well-reviewed book around Huck Finn’s father.

Even publishers and Hollywood studios—in fact, especially them—can benefit from the public domain. While you can’t copyright public domain works themselves, you can copyright annotations, the forewords and the rest. So now there are new editions of Jane Austen, complete with cover art to make her a little sexier. E-books’ improved capabilities for annotations should just enhance publishers’ opportunities to profit off the public domain. What’s more, you can take a public domain work and make a killing off the movie version as Disney has again and again. Perhaps studios and the rest should be aggressively lobbying for shorter copyright terms. Given the ephemeral nature of most Hollywood movies, would eternal copyright be that profitable for them—when right now they can blithely pick up plots and language from Shakespeare or Dickens or their successors? I know: A few movies such as It’s a Wonderful Life will go on and on. But I still suspect that shorter copyright terms in the end would be better for studios, which would have more books available for adaptations. From a Hollywood perspective, the advent of e-books might actually serve as an argument for shorter copyright terms. Book publishers may be mistakenly tempted to aim for longer copyrights, now that they don’t need physical warehouses. Meanwhile, if nothing else, shorter terms would open up more possibilities for Hollywood from among the vast number of obscure but brilliant novels whose copyright-holders can’t be traced.

Like the publishers and Hollywood, I myself am pro-copyright, and if I’m the very rare exception and my book is a best-seller, then I’d want the royalty stream to outlast me, for the benefit of my family and (if the money is substantial enough) charitable causes. But under Bono, current terms are already long enough, life and 70 years. The goal of copyright should be to provide creative incentives—easily enough in the pre-Bono days—rather than to enrich my heirs forever.

Another borrower

Meanwhile, lest Mark Helprin misunderstand the usefulness of borrowing within the limits of fairness and propriety, let me treat him to an example—Mark Helprin. Wikipedia is hardly the ultimate literary authority, but I can’t help notice the following about Winter’s Tale:

Plot introduction

The overall feel of the novel is that of magic realism, similar to that found in the works of Gabriel García Márquez or Salman Rushdie. The book is in part a paean to New York City in the same way that Garcia Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude is a tribute to Colombia.

Explanation of the novel’s title

The title Winter’s Tale is a reference to the Shakespeare play of the same name [with "The" in front of "Winter"]. In that play, as in this book, a major character disappears for years, only to return after a long and unexplained absence, unharmed, transformed, and redeemed.

No ifs or buts: Helprin has been borrowing a few timbers from his neighbors’ houses. Granted, he’s presumably done so within fair use in the cases of Márquez and Rushdie, and in Shakespeare’s case, no copyright exists to fret over. But give the copyright extremists a little time. A future Helprin just might want to ban the very practices that have enriched the current Helprin.

Addendum, May 22, 2007, 11: a.m.: Just to make it clear to people outside publishing, it’s now perfectly legal to use others’ titles. What’s more, I doubt that Helprin made major use of others’ language beyond the title. But his call for eternal copyright will only encourage other uber-hawks to come out of the woodwork on such issues as the use of similar titles and ideas. And combined with eternal copyright, that could have made Winter’s Tale a more expensive book to publish—given the need to pay Shakespeare’s heirs for the derived ideas, not just freedom to use the title.

Correction: The Times’ pay wall, in regard to opinion articles, applies only to regular columnists. Thanks to Greg Spira for the catch. I’ve changed the lead.

 
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