Can I (Successfully) Be Sued for My Scathing, Cruel, Factually Misleading (but Very Witty) Review of Your Book?

In a television appearance on the Dick Cavett Show in 1980, the novelist Mary McCarthy was asked which writers she regarded as overrated. McCarthy singled out the playwright and memoirist Lillian Hellman as "a bad writer, a dishonest writer," and went on to say "every word she writes is a lie, including 'and' and 'the.'"

As Franklin Foer tells the story, "when Lillian Hellman heard the quip in her bed, she laughed. By the time her assistant arrived for work the next morning, Hellman had called her lawyer, and set in motion a $2.25 million libel suit against McCarthy."

Did Hellman have a legal leg to stand on? I'll come back to that question in a minute.

There's no doubt that a scathing take-down of a book or movie or other work of art can provide a wicked source of pleasure to both the reviewer and her readers. Some deliciously disapproving book reviews may be found in this collection of pans, this one, this one (focusing on harsh assessments of literary classics), and this one (featuring caustic reviews by New York Times critic Michiko Kakutani). At least two books have chronicled the history of bookish slam pieces: The Fine Art of Literary Mayhem and Rotten Reviews Redux. And there is even a Hatchet Job of the Year award for the "best" worst review.

But can a negative review of a book or film or other creative work go too far and give rise to a successful legal claim against the reviewer? The answer: yes, but (thank heavens) rarely. To make sure your reviews don't plunge you into legal hot water, you should bear in mind the sometimes fuzzy line between constitutionally protected opinion and legally actionable libel.

By way of background, libel is defined as a false and defamatory statement of FACT about a living person or a business entity or product that causes harm to reputation. From the definition, it follows that: (1) you can't libel the dead; and (2) truth is an absolute defense to a libel claim. (If it ain’t false, it ain’t libel.)  It also follows from the definition that a statement cannot form the basis for a viable libel claim unless it can reasonably be interpreted as an assertion of a fact. That's where the crucial distinction between fact and opinion comes into play.

In Milkovich v. Lorain Journal Co., the Supreme Court identified two general categories of "opinion," which are protected by the First Amendment. The first category consists of statements that are not "provable as false" by objective evidence. For example, when a magazine described a store as "trashy," a federal appeals court held that the word "trashy" is "quintessentially subjective," a "chameleon that continuously changes colors and shades of meaning" and "admits of numerous interpretations"; "we can imagine no objective evidence that might conclusively prove or disprove it." Therefore, the judges found that, in context, the word "trashy" was pure opinion and could not support a libel claim.

A second category of opinion identified in Milkovich is "loose, figurative, or hyperbolic language which would negate the impression that the writer was seriously" stating an actual fact. Many instances of rude name-calling fall into this category, including characterizations such as "stupid son of a bitch," "idiot," "jerk," "disgrace to the species," and a personal favorite, "creepazoid attorney." Barbed jokes or satire often qualify as protected opinion, for the same reasons.

Regrettably, the distinction between fact and opinion can be elusive. It is blurriest when (1) you mix negative opinions with negative statements of fact, or (2) you express opinions that imply the existence of highly negative facts without stating them. (An example of the latter: saying "I believe Mark Fowler is a con artist" without providing facts that make it clear whether you are accusing me of committing criminally fraudulent acts or merely spouting self-serving bull.)

And you should keep in mind that merely labeling something an "opinion" doesn't necessarily make it so in the eyes of the law; for example, it would be ill-advised to say "In my opinion, he killed his father and married his mother," unless you have the facts to back it up.

Now let's apply these principles to an actual review.  Susan Cohen, writing in the Charleston City Paper in 2008, said of The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo “this is easily one of the worst books I have ever read, and remember I’ve read John Grisham.” Unflattering? Yes, very. Libelous? No way. Stieg Larsson certainly didn’t have a claim for libel. He died in 2004, years before the review was published. But neither did John Grisham, who was -- and is -- very much alive. A purely aesthetic judgment about Grisham's and Larsson's works ("one of the worst I've ever read") simply isn’t capable of being proven true or false. Therefore that statement shouldn't qualify as actionable libel no matter how damning the opinion may be. As one court explained, "While a bad review necessarily has the effect of injuring an author's reputation to some extent -- sometimes to a devastating extent -- criticism's long and impressive pedigree persuades us that, while a critic's latitude is not unlimited, he or she must be given the 'breathing space' appropriate to the genre." As far as I know, Mr. Grisham (who practiced law for a decade) did not threaten legal action against Ms. Cohen -- perhaps because he has a sense of humor, a thick skin, and/or a healthy appreciation of the First Amendment.

Next, let's consider a closer question. In a review of the book Interference about the influence of organized crime in football, a reviewer for The New York Times wrote, among other uncomplimentary statements, that "there is too much sloppy journalism to trust the bulk of this book’s 512 pages.” The author of the book, Dan Moldea, sued. Few libel cases have taken as many twists and turns. The district court found that the challenged statements were either substantially true or non-actionable opinion.  But the appeals court initially disagreed and found, among other things, that "the review attacks Moldea's competence as a practitioner of his chosen profession." As a result, the court concluded that some statements in the book review might be libelous, if they were proven to be untrue.

Judge Mikva wrote an eloquent dissent, arguing that to charge a writer with "too much sloppy journalism" is not equivalent to saying that a brain surgeon has "clumsy hands."

The reviewing of books is an art form almost as old as civilization. The more important the book, the more controversial the reviews. Courts should be most hesitant to assume an arbiter's role in this most delicate area of First Amendment speech. While the designation of speech as a "book review" should not automatically exempt it from the libel laws, any more than the "opinion" label enshrines other speech, the "sloppiness" of the reviewer's work should be left to the readers to determine, rather than for judges or juries to ordain.

Then, surprisingly and thankfully, the judge who had written the majority opinion for the appeals court reconsidered and totally reversed his position, noting that he had:

failed to take sufficient account of the fact that the statements at issue appeared in the context of a book review, a genre in which readers expect to find spirited critiques of literary works that they understand to be the reviewer's description and assessment of texts that are capable of a number of possible rational interpretations.

The chastened Moldea court then went on to prescribe a new and influential standard for distinguishing opinion from libelous statements of fact in the context of reviews.

The proper analysis would make commentary actionable only when the interpretations are unsupportable by reference to the written work. . . . This "supportable interpretation" standard provides that a critic's interpretation must be rationally supportable by reference to the actual text he or she is evaluating, and thus would not immunize situations analogous to that presented in Milkovich [the Supreme Court case mentioned above] in which a writer launches a personal attack, rather than interpreting a book. This standard also establishes boundaries even for textual interpretation. A critic's statement must be a rational assessment or account of something the reviewer can point to in the text, or omitted from the text, being critiqued. For instance, if the Times review stated that Interference was a terrible book because it asserted that African-Americans make poor football coaches, that reading would be "unsupportable by reference to the written work," because nothing in Moldea's book even hints at this notion. In such a case, the usual inquiries as to libel would apply: a jury could determine that the review falsely characterized Interference, thereby libeling its author by portraying him as a racist (assuming the other elements of the case could be proved).

Applying its newly minted "supportable interpretation" standard, the appeals court found that all of the statements in the review of Interference were either substantially true statements of fact or were opinions "supportable by reference to the written work," and therefore not libelous.

Don’t let me make you paranoid. Libel actions arising out of book or movie reviews are few and far between. How many merciless book reviews have been published in, say, the last thirty years?  Tens of thousands?  More?  But only a relative handful have given rise to lawsuits. And almost none have ultimately resulted in judgments against the reviewers or their publishers.

But don’t let me make you UNparanoid either. Defamation lawsuits involving unflattering book or film reviews are rare, but not rare enough for you to let down your guard. For example, in Stuart v. Gambling Times, the plaintiff-author sued over a review calling his book about gambling "the #1 fraud ever perpetrated upon the gambling reader" -- a statement that was held to be protected opinion. True crime writer Ann Rule recently sued the Seattle Weekly (thus far unsuccessfully) over an article that critiqued her book Heart Full of Lies; Rule contended that the article contained "innumerable inaccuracies and untruths" about her reporting. Harvard historian Niall Ferguson threatened suit over a negative review of his book Civilization: The West and the Rest, but he ultimately chose not to litigate. In England, author Chris McGrath did file suit against an Amazon reviewer (as well as the evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins) for unfavorable comments about his book.  The litigation turned out to be an expensive mistake. A publisher sued a Canadian librarian for an unflattering blog post contending, among other things, that the publisher's works were "second class scholarship." A disturbing criminal proceeding in France against the editor of book review website was dismissed. But the Daily Telegraph in London was ordered to pay $100,000 over a book review that a judge found to be "spiteful" and to contain serious factual errors.  And libel litigation over negative reviews of other types of products and services is booming.

So what steps can you take to protect yourself from a libel claim when you write a review?

1. In reviewing works of fiction or dramatic films or works of visual art, you will often be making aesthetic judgments, which will generally qualify as protected pure opinion. However, when you write about non-fiction or documentaries, you may be more likely to make factual assertions, which could be proven true or false. When making factual claims, protect yourself by being the best and most responsible sort of journalist, carefully checking your sources. Be especially cautious when you are stating or implying that someone has committed a crime, acted unprofessionally, unethically, or incompetently, abused controlled substances, gone bankrupt, or is unchaste. (Interestingly, legal views of what constitutes an actionable accusation of unchastity are slowly changing, as illustrated by this case involving a sex tape allegation.) Also be extra cautious if you state or imply that a product is defective or dangerous.

2. As the great Jan Harayda puts it, "review the book, not the author." For example, it’s one thing to say that a book contains factual misstatements (assuming that you're right and the author is wrong). It’s another to say that the author “distorts” the facts – that’s a definite yellow light, trending away from a review of the text and toward an attack on the author. And you may well be picking a fight if you say that the author knowingly “lies.” That's not to say that you can't hold and express highly negative opinions about the character of a writer, but when you publish them, you are taking on a different level of risk. Tread carefully.  If you're going to be caustic and cruel, make sure your facts are faultless.

3. Don't use a review (or any blog posting) as a vehicle for settling scores. Although statements made out of spite or ill-will are not actionable for that reason alone, think twice before reviewing the work of author against whom you bear a personal grudge.

4. Avoid using inflammatory words just for the sake of being colorful or shocking. Words like racist, Nazi, bigot, blackmail, bribe, cult, scam, liar, dishonest, incompetent, quack:  all might conceivably qualify as statements of opinion – in the right context.  However, in a different context, those same words might be deemed disparaging statements of fact. Realize that hot-button words give rise to a disproportionate number of libel claims.  Never use such words loosely.

5. Keeping in mind the "supportable interpretation" standard in Moldea, bolster your criticisms with specific, accurate references to the text on which you base your opinions.

6. If you do receive a complaint letter from someone who implies he might take legal action, speak to a lawyer right away.

7. If you make a serious mistake, in some states -- but not New York -- you can protect yourself against certain types of damage claims by making a prominent retraction. It is, in fact, almost always a good idea -- ethically, legally, and interpersonally -- to correct the record. However, you would be well-advised to consult with an attorney for assistance in framing a correction, particularly if you are being threatened with legal action.

8. Consider publishing an offended person’s response. Often what a complainant wants most of all is to tell her side of the story.

9. Remember that, if you are publishing reviews on your own blog or even on Amazon or barnesandnoble.com, you performing on a high wire with a potentially large audience and no safety net. You don’t have editors or fact checkers reading your work before you post it on the web.  You don’t have a well-healed news organization standing behind you – with lawyers ready to vindicate your rights and insurance to pay the lawyers for doing so. So you must act as your own editor, ensuring that you have your facts straight and that you aren't sacrificing fairness for the sake of snark.

Lawsuits can be scary and expensive, even when you win a smashing early victory. In most states (except a few with strong anti-SLAPP laws), a prevailing libel defendant still has to pay her own attorneys' fees. But if you are careful and professional, and if you know something about the law of libel, it’s very unlikely that you will ever be sued for any of your reviews.

But what about Lillian Hellman's case against Mary McCarthy? Amazingly, a New York court declined to find that McCarthy's statement was a simple joke or protected opinion. (Most libel lawyers think the judge was wrong.) The case dragged on for five years until Hellman died and the lawsuit was dropped. As Foer reports, McCarthy was disappointed; she told The New York Times that “I’m absolutely unregenerate ... I didn’t want her to die. I wanted her to lose in court. I wanted her around for that.”

Other resources:  Here is a blog posting about lawsuits arising out of bad reviews on Yelp. And here is a piece about "how not to get sued when reviewing" products online.  As this New York Times article explains, strong anti-SLAPP statutes in some states can sometimes be helpful to posters who get sued for statements of protected opinion, but many states have weak laws or no anti-SLAPP laws at all.  For more about the law of libel, please see these earlier posts.

The Unoriginal Sin: Differences Between Plagiarism and Copyright Infringement

Plagiarism, which many people commonly think has to do with copyright, is not in fact a legal doctrine. True plagiarism is an ethical, not a legal, offense and is enforceable by academic authorities, not courts. Plagiarism occurs when someone – a hurried student, a neglectful professor, an unscrupulous writer – falsely claims someone else’s words, whether copyrighted or not, as his own. Of course, if the plagiarized work is protected by copyright, the unauthorized reproduction is also a copyright infringement.

By the way, I cribbed every word of that first paragraph from Black's Law Dictionary, which, in turn, was quoting (with attribution) from copyright guru Paul Goldsteins' book Copyright's Highway.   If I hadn't bothered to mention Professor Goldstein, I would have been guilty of the sin of plagiarism, but not the actionable offense of copyright infringement.  (As a matter of copyright law, my quotation from Goldstein is, I trust, safely within the bounds of "fair use.")

In the words of Merriam-Webster Online, "plagiarism" is the act of steal[ing] and pass[ing] off (the ideas or words of another) as one's own; use [of] (another's production) without crediting the source."   By contrast, "copyright infringement," occurs "when a copyrighted work is reproduced, distributed, performed, publicly displayed, or made into a derivative work without the permission of the copyright owner."  (See the definitions section of the U.S. Copyright Office website.)  Similar, but not exactly the same.

Many acts of plagiarism are not copyright infringements.  And many acts of copyright infringement do not arise from plagiarism.  This post seeks to clarify the differences between the two transgressions -- differences that writers (and sometimes judges) often tend to blur.  Indeed, even Professor Goldstein engaged in a bit of blurring; it would have been more precise to say that "if the plagiarized work is protected by copyright and the copying is substantial, the unauthorized reproduction may sometimes also be a copyright infringement."

Copyright infringement is a legal offense against property rights, whereas plagiarism is an ethical failure to honor one's intellectual forefathers and foremothers.  Plagiarism does not amount to copyright infringement unless (a) the plagiarist has republished copyrightable expression of another, and (b) the amount of copied expression exceeds the boundaries of fair use.  For example, facts and ideas are not protected by copyright; only original "expression" is.  So, an academic who harvests facts from another scholar without giving due credit may be a  plagiarist, but, if she expresses those facts and ideas in her own words, she is not an infringer.  Or to take another example, works first published in the U.S. before 1923 are no longer in copyright.  Consequently, a novelist who lifts sentences and scenes from the short story sequence Winesburg, Ohio (first published in 1919 and now in the public domain in the U.S.) without crediting Sherwood Anderson would also be a plagiarist, but not an infringer.  When I pass off as my own original work ideas or public domain expression or sufficiently brief snippets of expression taken from others (e.g., my quote taken from Goldstein, devoid of quotation marks), I may have  -- depending upon the context -- committed plagiarism because, in the words of Judge Richard Posner, "readers of the new work are invited to think that those features are the inventions or discoveries of the plagiarist."  Yet I could not successfully sued for copyright infringement.

Conversely, if I quote too lengthily from the copyright-protected works of others, I may be a copyright infringer, even though I have carefully and fully acknowledged the author and work that I am quoting.  Thus, for example, in one well-known copyright case, the poet Ian Hamilton was found to have committed infringement by quoting too extensively from J.D. Salinger's unpublished letters in a biography of Salinger, even though Hamilton meticulously footnoted each quotation.

Examples of plagiarism are legion.  The Wikipedia offers a long, varied, and fascinating list of plagiarism controversies.  (Did you know that Helen Keller was caught up in a plagiarism scandal?)  Caslon Analystics of Australia has published another inventory of alleged incidents of literary plagiarism.  Wikipedia has a discussion of the theory and history of plagiarism here.  And Caslon Analytics's useful overview of plagiarism (again, with an Australian slant) may be found here,

I have just finished reading Judge Posner's book entitled The Little Book of Plagiarism, which provoked this post.  Judge Posner touches upon many of the famous unoriginality controversies of recent years, including those involving Doris Kearns Goodwin, Joe Biden, Stephen Ambrose, Laurence Tribe, and Kaavya Viswanathan.  (As Judge Posner points out, an uncommon number of such scandals seem to implicate Harvard personalities, not because plagiarism is especially common at Harvard, but because exposing the lapses of the academic elite gives the press and readers an extra shot of schadenfruede; see the Harvard Plagiarism Archive here for a master list of such controversies since 2002.)

Judge Posner offers an especially good explanation as to why some unacknowledged copying is plagiarism, and some is not:

A judgment of plagiarism requires that the copying, besides being deceitful in the sense of misleading the intended readers, induce reliance by them. 

* * * *

The reader has to care about being deceived about authorial identity in order for the deceit to cross the line to fraud and thus constitute plagiarism.

I am also indebted to Judge Posner for teaching me the word "cryptomnesia," which refers to "unconscious plagiarism, a sin of neglect rather than intention and, therefore, less blameworthy."  When caught in the act, almost all plagiarists, including Helen Keller, plead cryptomnesia.  But Judge Posner cites research suggesting that cryptomenesia is almost always a fallacious excuse when the copying consists of "verbal passages of more than trivial length."

The legal remedies for copyright infringement are powerful and plainly set forth in federal law.  (See Chapter 5 of the U.S. Copyright Act.)  But, as per Professor Goldstein's observation quoted above, the legal remedies, if any, for plagiarism are by no means clear-cut.

For many years, authors (and other creative people) sought to use the federal Lanham Act as a basis for litigation against those who used their work without proper authorization or credit. That legal strategy reached a dead end when the Supreme Court held in the 2003 case of Dastar v. Fox that the Lanham Act cannot be used to "creat[e] a cause of action for, in effect, plagiarism -- the use of otherwise unprotected works and inventions without attribution."  Law geeks may wish to take a look at this law review article -- and this one, too -- deploring how Dastar and its progeny effectively eliminated the Lanham Act as a remedy for failure to give credit where credit is due.  Without resort to the Lanham Act, victims of plagiarism -- who do not also have a viable copyright claim -- are left with few means of legal recourse.  In commercial settings, a buyer of a book riddled with plagiarism might theoretically seek to use consumer deception statutes to achieved redress, but there is no economic incentive to sue to recover the price of a book, and a plagiarized author may not even have standing to assert such a claim. See this earlier post discussing some less-than-satisfactory post-Dastar options, including ethical complaints to professional organizations and academic institutions.

After Dastar, shaming (either in private communications with the plagiarists' supervisors or in published accusations) remains the most effective tool for attacking plagiarism and plagiarists.  Timothy Noah of Slate offered this original idea for formalizing the shaming process in the book publishing industry; alas, it is not likely ever to be adopted.  And beware: all too often, accused plagiarists respond to shaming efforts with libel lawsuits against their accusers, as discussed in this article from The Chronicle of Higher Education.

In Europe, the legal doctrine of droit moral or moral rights gives authors the ability to claim a right of attribution in their works.  However, even in Europe, droit moral lawsuits are not routinely used to provide a remedy for garden variety plagiarism.  The United States recognizes droit moral or moral rights only with respect to certain limited categories of visual arts.  (See this brief summary of protections accorded by the Visual Artists Rights Act  in the United States.)  Writers do not have equivalent protections for the "right of attribution."

Interestingly, in June 2011, the Third Circuit Court of Appeals seems to have imported into the Digital Millennium Copyright Act ("DMCA") what is, in essence, a kind of cause of action for plagiarism in certain narrow circumstances.  The kinky case involved two New Jersey shock jocks, who hired a photographer to take a picture of them, apparently nude, with their manliness concealed by a sign bearing their station's logo, WKXW.  The photograph originally appeared in New Jersey Monthly.  Later, however, the station scanned the photograph, stripped out the photographer's credit line (without permission), posted it on the station's website, and invited fans to manipulate the image.  The photographer sued for copyright infringement and, based upon some on-air comments that the shock jocks made about him, defamation. The district court dismissed the photographer's claims, but the Third Circuit reinstated them, concluding, among other things, that the photographer's credit line was "copyright management information," and the digital manipulation and removal of the credit potentially violated the DMCA. Here is the always-entertaining Eriq Gardner's summary of the case.  And you  can see a portion of the image in question in this analysis of the case by New York lawyer Peter Fakler. You can read the entire decision here.  Of course, the DMCA does not provide a tool for addressing plagiarism outside of the context of digital manipulation, but it is an interesting new tactic in the age-old wars over plagiarism.

This New York Times article suggests that plagiarism is on the rise among college students and others, who find it tempting and easy to cut and paste into their papers the expression of others available the web.  Plagiarism.org's website cites a national survey published in Education Week that found that 54 percent of students admitted to plagiarizing from the internet.  Schools have responded by requiring the use of plagiarism-detection software, such as Turn-It-In, created by IParadigms.  

My firm recently handled case where plagiarism detection intersected with alleged copyright infringement.  Several students from McLean High School in northern Virginia tried to turn the tables on IParadigms, and sued the company for copyright infringement.  In checking for plagiarism, Turn-It-In software compares student papers not only to a huge textual database drawn from the internet, but also to an archive consisting of virtually all past papers submitted by students for scanning and review by the Turn-It-In software.  This archive is important to the review process because it enables the software to determine when students have copied from each other rather than copying from the internet.  The database of student papers is not published in any way, but merely resides on computers in the form of digital files used to carry out the comparisons.  The students contended that, in maintaining copies of their papers in these digital files, IParadigms infringed their copyrights in those papers.  In submitting their papers, the students had agreed not to assert any claims against IParadigms, but they argued that the agreement was against their will and otherwise unenforceable.  The courts disagreed and found that the archiving of the students' papers was effectively consented to and, in any event, a "fair use." Here is the opinion of the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals affirming the lower court's decision of non-infringement.  (My firm represented IParadigms.)

One of the things I do in my legal practice is review manuscripts before they are published for potential legal problems.  The legal vetting task is fairly clear-cut when it comes to identifying issues such as libel or invasion of privacy.  However, it is often nearly impossible for a lawyer (or an editor) to spot potential copyright infringement when an author has plagiarized his sources, failing to use quotation marks or endnotes.  As a result, some publishers are now sometimes using anti-plagiarism software to detect unauthorized copying in manuscripts, particularly in high profile books by celebrity authors.  According to this article in The Chronicle of Higher Education, academic journals are similarly "turn[ing] the anti-plagiarism software that professors have been using against their students on the professors themselves."

As Judge Posner is at pains to point out, what constitutes plagiarism and what does not is not always clear.  Many universities publish useful online resources for identifying and preventing plagiarism, including this one maintained by the UCLA libraries.  And here is the American Historical Association's Statement of Standards of Professional Conduct, which includes a fine discussion of plagiarism, and the sage advice: "No matter what the context, the best professional practice for avoiding a charge of plagiarism is always to be explicit, thorough, and generous in acknowledging one's intellectual debts."

Which reminds me, I almost neglected to mention that the headline to this post is a knock-off of the title of this great article by Roy Peter Clark on plagiarism in the newsroom, which originally appeared in The Washington Journalism Review. Clark's article is filled with examples of journalistic plagiarism and offers good counsel on distinguishing between permissible re-purposing and unethical, intellectual fraud.

Actually the phrase "unoriginal sin," has been used by many other writers in connection with articles about plagiarism.  (See this Google search report.)  Likely, this is the result of independent creation -- numerous writers separately coming up with the same pun, though it wasn't at all original on my part.  Suffice it to say that not every lifted phrase or unattributed joke is a sin.  Remember, Judge Posner's point that there must be some element of deceit and the originator and/or the reader/listener must have some reason to care about the undisclosed repurposing.  This well-known anecdote illustrates the irrepressible tradition of passing off the jokes of others as one's own:

After hearing his friend James McNeill Whistler make an especially witty remark, Oscar Wilde said, "My God, James, I wish I had said that."  To which Whistler replied, "You will, Oscar, you will."

No Competing Works: The Third Nastiest Clause in Book Publishing Agreements

Do you remember Harry Lorayne? If you ever met him, odds are he would remember you.  Lorayne is a memory-training specialist and performer who authored How To Develop a Super Power Memory.  He is also the poster child for the perils of the "no competing works" clause in publishing contracts.

In 1956, Lorayne signed a contract with publisher Frederick Fell for Super Power Memory, which contained a clause that prohibited Lorayne from "participating in the publication of any similar work which would tend to interfere with or injure sales of the book under contract."  Eighteen years later, when Super Power Memory was still in print, Lorayne wrote another book on memory (together with, improbably enough, basketball star Jerry Lucas) entitled The Memory Book, which was published with great success by Stein & Day.  Fell sued -- archly accusing Lorayne of "an apparent moment of forgetfulness" in disregarding the "no competing works" clause.  

A preliminary decision in the Lorayne case is reported here (but it doesn't really tell you much about the contractual issues).  I do not know how the Lorayne case was ultimately resolved; I do know that The Memory Book continued to be sold without interruption.  But, to me, the fundamental question in the case has always been: what in the world would Harry Lorayne ever write about except memory training?  If a court were to enforce a broad "no competing works" clause against him, it would essentially be saying that Lorayne could never write another book as long as Super Power Memory was available in any edition.

Specialists Beware

Like Harry Lorayne, many academicians and textbook writers spend their entire professional lives researching and writing about the same general subject matter.  Take, for example, a professor who authors a textbook on mycology or evolutionary psychology early in her career.  Strictly construed, a "no competing works" clause might mandate that she forever remain a one-book author.  Fortunately, as with covenants not to compete, the courts tend to construe such clauses narrowly, seeking to limit them in time, subject matter, or geographical scope so as not to interfere with an expert's ability to practice her profession and earn a living.

Consider the case of the late Justin Wilson, who was the author of Louisiana Outdoor Cookin'.   When Wilson later tried to publish a book with another publisher entitled Homegrown Louisiana Cookin', his first publisher sued, arguing that the "no competing works" clause barred such a sequel.  Surely, if you are a Cajun chef, living and working in Louisiana, it is unsurprising that you might aspire to write more than one book on Louisiana cookin'.  And a Louisiana court, ruled that Wilson had the right to do so, despite the contractual prohibition.  The judge's decision noted that "non-competition clauses are not favored in the law and are strictly construed against the person attempting to limit the competition."  Because the clause was not limited to a specific time period or restricted area, the non-compete was held to be "too vague and broad to be enforceable."

The essential legal treatise Perle & Williams on Publishing Law mentions another case in California is which the author went on the warpath and sued his publisher, arguing that the "no competing works" clause was an unreasonable restraint on trade in violation of the antitrust laws. (Perle and Williams don't report the outcome; if you happen to know, please send me an email.)

A Typical Clause

To be fair, a publisher is entitled to be protected against the author simply repackaging his book and publishing it a second time with another publisher. But many "no competing works" clauses go farther than they need to, as in this fairly typical example

During the term of this agreement the Author shall not, without prior written consent of the Publisher, participate in the publication of or be otherwise connnected with any work that might, in the Publisher's opinion, directly or indirectly interfere with or diminish the sale of the Work.

This provision is particularly aggressive because (1) it restricts for an indefinite period of time any "participation" in a conflicting work, even as a co-author or contributor; (2) it introduces the vague notion of "indirect" interference with the sale of a work; (3) it is not limited in the types of competing works (e.g., book-length) that it prohibits; and (4) the test of whether book two "interferes" with the sales of book one is subjective, turning entirely on the "opinion" of the publisher.

In contracts with academic writers, it is fairly common for publishers to include an additional clause along these lines:

The Author may, however, draw on and refer to material contained in the Work in preparing articles for publication in scholarly and professional journals and papers for delivery at professional meetings, provided that credit is given to the Work and the Publisher.

Helpful, but it really doesn't give you any protection when it comes to your next full-length work.

A Better Alternative

With works of non-fiction in particular, publishers will often refuse to eliminate the "no competing works" clause entirely.  However, when possible, you should at least try to negotiate a more even-handed clause. The Writer's Legal Guide recommends that the contract describe the type of successor work you are prohibited from writing

as specifically as possible as to subject matter, market, and format. Do not give the publisher the discretion to decide whether a work will compete with the contracted book -- limit the restriction to works that will actually compete with the primary work.

For example, if you are writing a textbook, you might try to limit the non-compete to another textbook on the identical subject directed to a similar academic level (e.g., high school biology students), clearly reserving the right to publish scholarly monographs or works for a general audience on the same subject.  You could also seek to make clear that a competing "work" must be book-length, and that the clause therefore has no application to articles, etc.  A somewhat better clause might look like this:

For a period of four years, Author shall not publish any book-length work on the same subject as the Work, namely [inserting here a detailed description of the "subject"], directed to the same audience, that will diminish sales of the Work.

And, if you have an idea for a subsequent work on a related subject, you can attempt to expressly carve out that work from the scope of the "no competing works" clause, e.g.:

Publisher agrees that Author may continue to write and publish books and other works dealing with mycology and may expand chapters from the Work to new full-length works.  For the avoidance of doubt, this clause is not intended to prohibit Author's publication of such works.

Of course, whether you can obtain changes of this kind will depend upon your bargaining power.  If you have an agent, she can be a godsend, advising you what's realistic and achievable under your particular circumstances.  For many authors, the language of the "no competing works" clause may not be a deal breaker, but for some specialists it ought to be.

The "No-Competing Works" Clause and Works of Fiction

The "no competing works" clause is primarily a concern in contracts for works of non-fiction. Ordinarily two novels by the same author, published by two different publishers, will not interfere with each other's sales. Neverthless, in rare instances, publishers have taken the dubious position that the "no competing works" clause prohibits re-use of the characters from a novel in a sequel. The "no competing works" clause has little genuine commercial application to fiction, and it is not unreasonable to ask that it be stricken entirely from a contract for a novel or a book of short stories.  At the very least, the publisher should be willing to clarify that the clause does not prohibit you from publishing sequels or re-purposing characters in other works.

What If Your Contract Does Not Contain a "No Competing Works" Clause?

If you do not have a "no competing works" clause in your publishing contract, then you are ordinarily free to write a book on the same topic for another publisher. That's the lesson of Wolf v. Illustrated World Encyclopedia.  But watch out for the "option clause," which may require you to offer your next book to your old publisher.  And remember that, if you granted exclusive publishing rights to Publisher X, it became an owner of a "copyright interest" in the work.  As a result, Publisher X could sue you and your new publisher for copyright infringement, if you cannibalize a meaningful amount of text from the book you published with Publisher X.  Yes, you can be sued for infringing a copyright in a work that you yourself created; do-it-yourself infringement was alleged in the case involving John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater fame and (more or less) in the arbitration involving The Hunt for Red October, described in this earlier post.

Can Your Publisher Issue Another Work that Competes with Yours?

What about the flip side?  Can a book publisher publish two or more books on the same subject by different authors?  The answer is:  ordinarily yes.  For example, Harry Lorayne's publisher could probably publish two or even twenty books on memory without breaching its duties to Lorayne, unless, as described in Van Valkenburgh v. Hayden Publishing, the publisher promised to use its best efforts to promote one author's book and allegedly did not act in good faith in publishing books by other authors on the same topic.  Suffice it to say that publishers will seldom sign a "best efforts" clause.

More Resources

Here is one health writer's screed on the hazards of the "no competing works" clause.  And here is a discussion of The Authors Guild's views on the clause.  For a general discussion of the good, the bad, and the ugly in book publishing contracts, see this earlier post.

I suggested that the "no competing works" clause may be the third "nastiest" clauses in a book publishing agreement.  What are number one and number two?  Depending upon the phrasing, of course, they are often the option clause and the grant of rights clause.  More about these extremely important terms in later posts.

Copyright in Fictional Characters: Can I Have Don Draper Make a Cameo Appearance in My Novel?

I'm throwing a dinner party in my novel. My guest list includes Don Draper, James Bond, Jack Ryan, Scarlett O'Hara, Dolores Haze a/k/a Lolita, and Elizabeth Bennett.  I don't expect my guests to say or do anything at my fictional party.  The question is:  Can they simply show up at the dinner table without my infringing the copyrights of Matthew Weiner, Ian Fleming, Tom Clancy, Margaret Mitchell, Vladimir Nabokov, and Jane Austen or their heirs?

Before trying to answer that (somewhat surprisingly complicated) question, let me introduce you to one of my guests.  Jack Ryan is known to millions of readers as a tough former Second Lieutenant in the Marines, a onetime CIA agent, and ultimately President of the United States. He appeared as a character in Tom Clancy's first novel, The Hunt for Red October, which was published in hardcover in October 1984 by the U.S. Naval Institute Press, a small publisher that was then primarily issuing works on naval history.  Ryan later reappeared in many other Clancy novels.  But did you know that Jack Ryan was the subject of allegedly infringing use by none other than . . . Tom Clancy?

Clancy was a true unknown when he wrote Hunt for Red October -- an insurance agent who daydreamed of becoming a novelist.  The New York Times tells the back story here.  Prior to Red October, Clancy had published no fiction, but he had published a non-fiction article on the MX missile in the Naval Institute's Proceedings magazine.  So when he completed Red October he offered the novel to the Naval Institute; its headquarters were, after all, just a few miles away from his home near Annapolis.

The Naval Institute had published a few previous novels on naval themes and offered Clancy its standard contract, which included an assignment of the copyright to the publisher -- not uncommon for academic books at the time, but rare for novels.  Clancy happily signed the agreement and received a $5,000 advance.  Red October surprised both author and publisher when it turned out to be a colossal bestseller, selling many millions of copies (after Ronald Reagan praised it as "the perfect yarn").

For his second book, Clancy jumped ship and signed with a big New York publisher.  But the earlier copyright assignment to the Naval Institute almost torpedoed the new book.  Why?  Because the copyright assignment arguably carried with it the rights to the characters in Red October.  The Naval Institute commenced an arbitration claiming that, as the Times explained, the Naval Institute's copyright ownership in Red October gave it "a continuing interest in the Jack Ryan character, and it should therefore receive a percentage of the profits from Patriot Games and The Cardinal of the Kremlin and from any films or miniseries made of them."

The Red October arbitration was settled on undisclosed terms.  But the point is that fully drawn literary characters are generally subject to copyright protection, and the copyright owner will often be able to prevent others from using the character in other works without permission.  But the legal principles are by no means simple.

There are two separate but related questions here.  First:  Is a particular character protected by copyright?  Second:  Is the particular use made by someone other than the copyright owner infringing?

Here is what famed judge Learned Hand said 80 years ago in Nichols v. Universal Pictures Corp. about distinguishing between literary characters that are and are not protected by copyright:

If Twelfth Night were copyrighted, it is quite possible that a second comer might so closely imitate Sir Toby Belch or Malvolio as to infringe, but it would not be enough that for one of his characters he cast a riotous knight who kept wassail to the discomfort of the household, or a vain and foppish steward who became amorous of his mistress. These would be no more than Shakespeare’s ‘ideas’ in the play, as little capable of monopoly as Einstein’s Doctrine of Relativity, or Darwin’s theory of the Origin of Species. It follows that the less developed the characters, the less they can be copyrighted; that is the penalty an author must bear for marking them too indistinctly.

Judge Hand's analysis still holds true today.  As copyright guru Paul Goldstein puts it:

Fully realized characters in literature are little different from fully defined personalities in daily life, and it is no surprise that the test of protectibility that courts apply to literary characters is closely akin to the criterion that individuals apply in daily life to determine whether they in truth know someone. A literary character can be said to have a distinctive personality, and thus to be protectible, when it has been delineated to the point at which its behavior is relatively predictable so that, when placed in a new plot situation, it will react in ways that are at once distinctive and unsurprising.

Every reader of Catcher in the Rye comes away with the feeling that she knows Holden Caulfield, and so it was unsurprising to many copyright lawyers when, a little over a year ago, a court enjoined publication an unauthorized sequel by Fredrick Colting that told the story of a 76-year-old Holden Caulfield.  Here is the appeals court decision in that procedurally complicated case, which ended in a settlement prohibiting further publication in the United States and Canada.  Holden Caulfield is, in Goldstein's phrase, "fully delineated," and like other fully delineated characters (e.g., James Bond, as the court ruled in this lawsuit) he is surely protected by copyright, while, by contrast, sketchily defined, stock characters may not be (as the court found in this case).  (See also this account of a 1998 lawsuit to block publication of Lo's Diary "a distaff version of Nabokov's Lolita.")

But the fact that a character is copyright protected does not necessarily mean that every use of his/her fictional persona is an infringement.  A second work that invokes a copyright-protected character must copy some significant amount of expression in order to be an infringement.  The mere mention of the name of a copyrighted character ought not to be a copyright infringement because names, standing alone, are not copyrightable. (But see the discussion of trademark and unfair competition law below.)  A copyright infringement occurs only when a quantum of protectible expression has been copied, and the copying is not excused by the doctrine of fair use.  (Note that this post deals primarily with openly acknowledged use of another writer's character, not the situation where an author merely borrows certain traits or characteristics from a character.)

With this principle in mind, it would seem to follow that a fleeting appearance of another writer's fictional character as a dinner guest in my novel should not qualify as a copyright infringement.  However, as soon as I start to make Jack Ryan or Don Draper talk like, act like, or look like Jack Ryan or Don Draper in my novel I may be treading on thinner ice.  And if I make Jack Ryan or Don Draper an important character in my book, I'm begging for trouble.

There are several other important considerations here.  First, there are some copyright owners who, regardless of viability of their claims, will not hesitate to sue me at the drop of a hat if I use their characters in any way without obtaining permission (which they will never give me).  There is, in other words, a practical risk in inviting other writers' characters to my fictional dinner party, even if those characters keep their mouths shut and do nothing.  Frankly, it may not be worth it to me to take any risk of provoking a lawsuit arising from my imaginary soiree, even if I have the better part of the argument on copyright.  It's always safer to invite some nameless characters of my own creation.

(And Elizabeth Bennett can still attend the dinner, since she has been in the public domain for a long, long time.  Seth Grahame Smith, author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, is surely thankful for that.)

Second, the owner of the rights in a famous fictional character will also likely seek to invoke other legal theories -- particularly trademark and unfair competition laws -- when trying to protect her characters from my unauthorized use.  If the name of a character has acquired secondary meaning -- i.e., if the name is sufficiently well known that readers associate it exclusively with a particular author's work -- then the owner may be able to claim that my unauthorized use of the name creates confusion among readers, who may mistakenly conclude that my use of the name is authorized, approved, or licensed by the owner.  Confusion as to source, authorization, or  endorsement is the essence of an unfair competition claim. There might be ways to get around the trademark infringement/unfair competition argument, particularly with the use of prominent disclaimers that make very clear that Matthew Weiner has not authorized me to mention Don Draper.  But, still, the unfair competition argument is a complicating factor when referencing the characters of others.

Concern about characters as trademarks may -- or may not -- have figured into some of the choices made in The Wind Done Gone, by Alice Randall.  Randall's novel was, of course, a reinterpretation of the characters and events in Gone with the Wind.  Scarlet O'Hara appears in the novel, but she is referred to only as "Other."  And Rhett Butler is called "R."  Place names, such as Tara, were also altered.  That said, Scarlett and Rhett are "fully delineated" characters whose fictional lives are continually referenced (albeit not by their full names) in Randall's novel.  Small wonder then that the owner of the copyright in GWTW sued Randall's publisher, Houghton Mifflin.  As you can see from the complaint, the plaintiff alleged both copyright infringement and unfair competition, claiming, among other things, that the characters were both copyright-protected and had acquired secondary meaning.  It was a hard-fought case, with an inconclusive ending.  The trial court found that The Wind Done Gone was likely a violation of copyright and issued a preliminary injunction.  But the appeals court, in this decision, found on First Amendment grounds that it was improper to preliminarily enjoin publication of TWDG in part because Randall's work could qualify as a "parody" of GWTW.  But the appeals court did not rule out the possibility that the publisher of TWDG could ultimately be liable to the copyright owner for money damages.  The case settled before there was any final decision on a host of interesting legal issues.

These days, the unauthorized use of characters occurs all of the time in the context of fan fiction, which typically involves inventing new stories using familiar characters from literature, comic books, movies, or television programs.  An entire subculture has built up around fan fiction, and recently FanFiction.Net was the 747th most trafficked website in the United States.  Although each work must be judged on its own, suffice it to say that, if the issue ever reached a court, many works of fan fiction would be deemed derivative works that infringe upon the characters and stories on which they are based.  Chilling Effects has a great Q&A on the legal issues relating to fan fiction.  And the Wikipeida entry on the legality of fan fiction also makes for interesting reading.  Georgetown Law School professor Rebecca Tushnet wrote an excellent law review article on the subject.  And here is a list of other law review pieces discussing the legal issues.

Fan fiction writers have two things going for them.  First, as discussed in some of the references above, many (but by no means all) copyright owners have turned a blind eye to infringing fan fiction, on the theory that they do not want to alienate some of their most enthusiastic followers. Second, fan fiction writers rarely seek to profit from their work, which is helpful in arguing the defense of fair use, but by no means provides immunity from an infringement claim.  In short, writers of fan fiction, who publish their work on the web or elsewhere, should be aware that they are taking some degree of legal risk, unless, like Pride and Prejudice and Vampires, their works are based upon public domain sources.

So can I have Don Draper make a cameo appearance in my novel?  As you can see, the answer is a thoroughly equivocal "it depends."  A writer contemplating using the characters of another writer would well-advised to seek out the counsel of an experienced intellectual property lawyer.  (See this prior post on free and low-cost resources.)  If you're publishing with an established house, you should discuss your particular use of other writers' characters with your editor and the in-house attorney.

There are several helpful discussions on the web concerning copyright in fictional characters, including this one by Denver lawyer Lloyd Rich, this one by California lawyer Ivan Hoffman, and this by Phoenix lawyer Jasmina Zecevic Richter.

Does the DNA in a Bacterium Infringe the Copyright in James Joyce's "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man"?

That wonderfully oddball question was posed to me yesterday by author Mike Mullin.  (See his entertaining tweets here.)

I admit that initially I didn't have the foggiest idea what Mike was talking about.  But when I read the link in his tweet it all became clear.

It seems that, in May 2010, the American biologist Craig Venter synthesized the genome of a microbe and implanted a snippet of its DNA into a DNA-free cell of another species.  As Carl Zimmer exclaimed in awe in a blog post on Discover magazine's website:

And that…that thing…can grow and divide. It’s hard to say whether this is “life from scratch,” because the boundary between such a thing and ordinary life (and non-life) is actually blurry . . . 

Here, from The Guardian, is a more detailed discussion of the extraordinary and controversial science -- arguably the first synthetic life form. And here is Venter himself talking about the breakthrough.  But for our purposes, the funky thing is that, as Zimmer reported in a later post, Ventner's synthetic cell:

carries a line from James Joyce, inscribed in its DNA: “To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.” . . . The scientists who produced the new synthetic cell copied the genome of a microbe, letter for letter, and then inserted the synthetic version into a host cell. To determine that their experiment worked, they needed a way to tell the genomes of their synthetic cells from the natural genomes that were their model. So they inserted “watermarks” into the artificial genome. These sequences of DNA (which spelled out the work of Joyce and others through the genetic code) sit in non-coding regions of the microbe’s DNA.

(Emphasis added.) What happened next, sounds like a satire of the James Joyce Estate's legendarily overzealous copyright policing.  As David Ewalt reported in his blog on Forbes.com, at a conference in Texas just last week:

Venter explained his team received a cease and desist letter from Joyce’s estate, saying that he’d used the Irish writer’s work without permission. ”We thought it fell under fair use,” said Venter.

In other words, the Joyce Estate evidently contended that a sequence of DNA in a bacterium infringed the copyright in Portrait of the Artist.  In his tweet, Mike Mullin asked -- doubtless tongue in cheek -- for an opinion on the viability of the Estate's copyright claim.  Here, Mike, is how the analysis might go, if one were to take this claim at all seriously:

The first question is whether Portrait of the Artist is copyright-protected at all.  Joyce's novel was first published in 1916.  It is therefore in the public domain in the United States, as are all works first published in 1922 or before.  (See this earlier post on copyright duration.)  Thus, as long as the literary bacterium was bioengineered in America and not distributed abroad, it would not be an infringing microbe.  Indeed, you can read the entirety of the book on the Project Gutenberg site. (It is, to say the least, quite wonderful.)  But keep in mind that the United Kingdom and the European Union calculate the duration of copyright in older works differently.  Copyright there (at least for works first published during an author's lifetime) endures for seventy years after the death of the author.  Since Joyce died in 1941, Portrait of the Artist is copyright-protected in those jurisdictions until January 1, 2012.  So if the creation and replication of the microbe took place in the UK in 2010, the Estate at least has a copyrighted work on which to base its claim.

By the way, this webpage maintained by Ohio State University and The International James Joyce Foundation tells you everything you could possibly want to know about the duration of Joyce's copyrights in various countries throughout the world.  Among the contributors to page are Robert Spoo and Carol Loeb Shloss.  I will come back to Spoo and Shloss in a minute.

I do not know where Venter's bacterium was created, but he is an American and his Institute is based in Maryland and California.  So odds are the copying occurred in a jurisdiction where Portrait of the Artist is in the public domain.  Don't sweat this, Dr. Venter.

But what if the new life form had been born in London?  There would still be a long line of hoops that the Estate would have to jump through to prove copyright infringement.  We will take it as a given that the microbe does in some sense "copy" a small portion of Joyce's novel, even though the copying cannot be seen by looking at the microbe under a microscope, but only in the print-out produced by the laboratory equipment that analyzes its genetic sequencing.  I am no authority on "fair dealing" -- the British equivalent of "fair use" (I leave any UK analysis to Emily Goodhand @CopyrightGirl) -- but under U.S. law, any claim of copyright infringement would, of course, be patently ridiculous.  The 14-word phrase from Joyce is so short that it would likely qualify as de mimimis copying -- i.e., too insignificant even to bother with applying the fair use analysis.  If the fair use factors under Section 107 of the Copyright Act were examined, Venter should surely win on at least three of the four.  In particular, a court would almost certainly find that Venter's use of Joyce's words was highly "transformative," which strongly favors a finding of fair use.  The "amount and substantiality of the portion used [by Venter] in relation to the copyrighted work" is trivial, to say the least. The effect of Venter's use on the market for Portrait of the Artist is non-existent.  Point, game, match -- Venter.

By the way, from what I read, as the bacteria replicate, the Joyce "quote" is gradually becoming more and more garbled, as mutation alters the gene sequencing.

But there is a serious point lurking here.  This is by no means the first time that the Joyce Estate has aggressively rattled its copyright sabres.  See this long and  fascinating New Yorker article.  And see  this summary by Kim Dian Gainer, which describes the "forced the excision of material from Brenda Maddox’s biography of Nora Joyce," the blocking of a "performance based upon a short story by Joyce that, ironically, was itself based upon a folk tale,"  the blocking of "live readings of Ulysses on the internet," and, in 2004, the threat of legal action to "derail[] exhibits and readings intended to be a part of the ReJoyce Dublin 2004 festival."

Most famously, the Estate objected to Carol Shloss's plans to quote from certain letters and other materials in her biography of Joyce's daughter, Lucia.  In response, Shloss filed a landmark declaratory judgment and "copyright misuse" lawsuit, in which she argued, among other things, that the Estate misused its copyrights in an effort to influence scholarly treatment of Joyce's works and life.  Robert Spoo was one of the attorneys who represented her.  (I told you I would return to Shloss and Spoo.) Ultimately, Shloss obtained a highly favorable settlement, and the Estate ended up paying $240,000 in attorneys' fees to Shloss and her counsel.

Based upon the letter accusing Venter of creating an infringing bacterium, the Estate does not appear to have been chastened by the outcome of the Shloss case.

Postscript: Following up on the Joyce/Venter controversy, New Yorker blogger Jeannie Venasco located several other accounts of literary quotations that have been encoded into DNA (evidently without attracting cease and desist letters).  She summarizes her research in this amusing post.

Oops, I Poisoned My Readers: Can I Be Liable for Publishing Mistaken Information?

Suppose you are the author of a book about harvesting edible mushrooms. Suppose further that mushroom enthusiasts who purchased your book became seriously ill when they gathered and ate fungi that you mistakenly described as safe. Could you be sued by your poisoned readers?  Would they be able to recover damages from you and your publisher for their culinary nightmare?

The answer to the first question is, of course, yes:  Generally speaking, anyone can be sued for anything in this great country of ours, no matter how lacking-in-merit the case might be.  (Of course, if the case is truly frivolous, the courts may, in some instances, have the power to impose sanctions on the plaintiff or his attorney.)

The answer to the second question is not entirely clear, although the law is better for publishers (and perhaps also for authors) than one might guess.

There was, in fact, a case involving an encyclopedia of mushrooms.  Some readers, relying on misinformation in the book, did collect and eat poisonous mushrooms, becoming so ill that they required liver transplants.  Ultimately, in this important decision, the Ninth Circuit found that the publisher had no liability to its readers for the nearly-deadly information.  Essentially, the court concluded that imposing liability on the publisher would open the door to the prospect of unlimited liability that could severely threaten the free flow of information.  Here is how the court explained its reasoning:

Although there is always some appeal to the involuntary spreading of costs of injuries in any area, the costs in any comprehensive cost/benefit analysis would be quite different were strict liability concepts applied to words and ideas. We place a high priority on the unfettered exchange of ideas. We accept the risk that words and ideas have wings we cannot clip and which carry them we know not where. The threat of liability without fault (financial responsibility for our words and ideas in the absence of fault or a special undertaking or responsibility) could seriously inhibit those who wish to share thoughts and theories. As a New York court commented, with the specter of strict liability, "[w]ould any author wish to be exposed ... for writing on a topic which might result in physical injury? e.g. How to cut trees; How to keep bees?" . . .  One might add: "Would anyone undertake to guide by ideas expressed in words either a discrete group, a nation, or humanity in general?"

Similarly, the courts have found that a publisher was not liable for an injury to a student who was injured while performing a science experiment, following allegedly mistaken directions in a textbook.  Decision here.  Dow Jones had no liability to readers for publishing mistaken financial information.  Decision here.   A victim of sexual abuse could not recover from a publisher that allegedly misrepresented the qualifications of an attorney that she hired.  Decision here.  Planned Parenthood was not liable for the "wrongful conception" of a child based upon allegedly mistaken information in a contraception pamphlet.  Decision here.  See also this case in which a publisher was found not to be responsible for the death of a reader arising out of the publication of allegedly hazardous information in a diet book.  And then there is this famous (to media lawyers) and bizarre case in which Hustler was found not to be responsible for the death of a teenager who allegedly imitated an autoerotic practice described in an article in the magazine.  Decision here.

Many caveats are in order.  

First, in a number of cases of this kind, the defendant was a publisher and not an individual author.  Sometimes the publisher successfully invoked the argument that it could not be expected to fact check every instruction in every book it published.  That same argument would not ordinarily be available to the author of an accused book.  Accordingly, the author might face a greater legal risk than her publisher.  See, for example, this case for personal injuries arising out of allegedly mistaken information concerning the making of tools, in which the claims against the publisher were dismissed, but the claims against the author went forward.  See also Jones v. J.B. Lippincott, in which the court distinguished between the responsibility of the author and publisher of a textbook, which contained allegedly mistaken information that caused injury to a nursing student.  The Lippincott court said: 

Author liability for errors in the content of books, designs, or drawings is not firmly defined and will depend on the nature of the publication, on the intended audience, on causation in fact, and on the foreseeability of damage.

Note, however, that the mushroom encyclopedia case, above, quotes with seeming approval language from an earlier case about protecting authors from unlimited liability, even though only the publisher seems to have been a defendant when the Ninth Circuit issued its decision.  Moreover, in some of the financial information cases, the publisher also appears to have been the author of the "defective" information.

Second, some of the cases suggest that liability could be imposed if the publisher or author knew that the mistaken information was false, but went ahead and published it anyway.

Third, the courts have said that a different rule might apply in a circumstance where there was a special relationship between the writer or publisher and the reader that gives rise to a duty to speak with care.  An example might be where you specifically contract to prepare a research report for a specific individual or company and it turns out that mistaken information in the report causes injury.

Fourth, and most fundamentally, no responsible author wants to cause injury to a reader, and there is no discounting the fact that publishing seriously mistaken information has a host of other detrimental consequences, ranging from damage to an author's reputation, to the cost of defending a lawsuit, even if the lawsuit is ultimately dismissed.

There is, in short, every reason for a writer to do his utmost to get his facts straight, to communicate instructions clearly, and to give ample warnings of the risks involved in a described procedure.  That said, if the worst does happen, the law gives publishers -- and perhaps also writers -- some meaningful protections against open-ended liability to readers.

Postscript:  Here are discussions of two recent cases in which readers have sought to impose liability on publishers and/or authors for perceived wrongs other than personal injury:  the putative class action suit alleging that Jimmy Carter's book was falsely marketed as an accurate account of peace negotiations in the Middle East; and the case against James Fry and his publisher for allegedly misrepresenting a work of fiction as a memoir.

What Can You Do If Your Co-Author Denies You The Credit You Deserve?

A friend of mine, whom I will call Julia, recently co-wrote an article with one of her supervisors at work.  Julia did the lion's share of the research and writing and was told that she would be given a co-author credit when the article appeared in print.  Indeed, a preliminary version of the article (blessed by her supervisor) specifically listed Julia as co-author.  However, between the time she wrote the article and when it was scheduled to appear, she took a job with a competitor.  Lo and behold, when the article was ultimately published, Julia had suddenly become, in Orwell's phrase, an unperson.  Not only was her name omitted from the by-line, but her co-author gave her no credit at all, not even a fleeting mention in a footnote.  Slimy.  

What could she do?  What should she do?  

This is, of course, a woefully common fact pattern.  Credit is, of course, a key consideration in all types of writing, ranging from million-dollar screenplays to scholarly papers where the writer has no expectation of any payment. Regrettably, as is so often the case, there may be a wide disparity between the legal remedies theoretically available, on the one hand, and the practical cost-effective options, on the other.

As to what Julia could do, here are the principal legal remedies that credit-robbed writers have sometimes successfully pursued:

1.  Copyright.  The most direct attack would ordinarily be for Julia to file a lawsuit seeking a declaratory judgment that she is the joint author and co-owner of the copyright and seeking an accounting of any revenues (to which, as co-owner, she would be presumptively entitled to half).

However, in Julia's case, the article was written within the scope of her duties to the company -- i.e., at the direction of her boss, on company time, using company computers, accessing subscription databases, such as Lexis-Nexis, paid for by the company, for the purpose of demonstrating the company's expertise in the subject area.  For these reasons and others, her contribution to the work probably constitutes "work made for hire," as defined in Section 101 of the Copyright Act, belonging to the company.  Indeed, her supervisor's contribution to the article is also probably "work made for hire."  As a result, the company -- rather than either of them individually -- probably owns the copyright.  As a result, my friend could not seek a declaratory judgment for joint ownership of copyright -- much less pursue a claim for copyright infringement.  Indeed, one co-owner of a copyright owner cannot ordinarily sue the other for infringement.

That said, if you are a freelancer or an independent contractor, you, unlike Julia, might have a basis for a declaratory judgment action.  Here, for example, is the Court of Appeals decision in an epic battle by songwriter Shirley Goodman to obtain a declaratory judgment that she was the joint owner of the copyright in the rock and roll classic, "Let the Good Times Roll".

2. False Designation of Origin Under the Lanham Act. Until 2003, my friend could have brought an action under the federal Lanham Act, which prohibits various forms of unfair competition.  For many years, the federal courts held that a contributor to a creative project could sue, under the Lanham Act, for false designation of origin if she was not given proper credit -- or any credit -- for her work.  For example, in Lamothe v. Atlantic Recording Corporation, two members of the band Ratt sued other members of the band, alleging that they had wrongfully been denied credit as co-writers of the band's songs.  An appeals court held that one of the purposes of the Lanham Act is to ensure that "the producer of a good or service receives appropriate recognition and that the consuming public receives full information about the origin of the good."  The Lanham Act even offered the possibility of triple damages if the defendant's conduct was egregious.  But then came the Supreme Court's decision in Dastar v. Twentieth Century Fox Film Corp.  Dastar is a complicated case, which I won't try to summarize here, but the effect of the decision was to slam the door on the use of the Lanham Act in cases of alleged false attribution of creative credit or omission of credit.

3.  Breach of Contract.  After Dastar, Julia's last best hope for a successful lawsuit would probably be a claim for breach of contract.  Not all contracts have to be in the form of signed writings in order to be enforceable.  In many instances, an oral agreement on authorship credit could be enforceable.  Or a contract might be inferred from the circumstances (e.g., the draft with Julia's name on it).  [Don't get me wrong: it's always better from a legal perspective to have a written, signed contract, and some agreements, like "work made for hire" agreements and copyright assignments must be in writing.]  Basically, Julia's claim would boil down to:  you promised to give me credit, you broke your promise, and I was injured as a result.

There are a few other possible legal theories: unjust enrichment, state deceptive trade practices laws, state artist's rights statutes, etc.  But none is especially likely to be more successful than a straight-out breach of contract claim.

But let's get real.  Julia's boss wasn't paid for the article.  So even if she were to win a breach of contract case, she probably would not receive more than token damages.  It's too late for a court to order that her name be included in the by-line of the printed article.  Contract damages on the theory of injury to her professional reputation would be extremely speculative and, as a result, unavailable.  With no real prospect for recovering interesting money damages, Julia could never get a lawyer to take her case on contingency.  If she has to pay a good IP lawyer his hourly rate, she would soon find herself writing four figure checks.  Maybe one of volunteer lawyers for the arts groups discussed in this post would help, but Julia may actually have too large an income to qualify for their services.

So what should Julia do?

The right strategy in these cases varies wildly depending on the dynamics of the writer's situation.  These steps might make sense for Julia, but they might make no sense for you.

1.  Figure out in advance what your objectives are.  In Julia's case, her principal goal in writing the piece was to obtain professional recognition.  It's too late now to get credit in the printed article.  But it might still be feasible to ask that a correction be published in conjunction with the online version of the article, acknowledging her contribution.  This would enable her to point to the article as her own, include it on her resume, etc., so it is a goal that may be worth pursuing.  Your goal, by contrast, may be reasonable financial compensation, another project to work on, an apology, a email you can point to acknowledging your role as co-author, shaming of your co-author, or sweet revenge -- each of which may require a different strategy.

2.  Gather your evidence. Pull together and preserve all emails, drafts, letters, contracts, invoices, etc. relating to the project.  Review whether there is any objective, documentary evidence of the promise of credit.  Or does it come down to your word against your co-author's?

3.  Decide whether you dare to complain. There are times when it's frankly not worth it to fight over credit -- an undistinguished article in an undistinguished publication, no money at stake, the risk of offending someone whose goodwill you depend upon.   For example, if Julia were still working at her old company, making an issue over the denial of credit might have cost her a raise, a promotion, or even her job.  Those considerations might have had a bearing on whether and how she pursued her grievance. But, because she is no longer working under her co-author, she has little to lose in fighting for the credit she deserves.  I am not suggesting that writers should hesitate to complain when they've been screwed; all I am saying is that it's important to maintain a sense of proportion about any dispute.

4.  Decide whom to complain to. Obviously, the first person you will complain to will be your co-author.  But are you willing and able to complain to others?  Keep in mind that if you announce to a third party that your co-author robbed you of proper credit you may run a risk that your co-author might claim you have libeled him.  (If I only tell you that "you're a plagiarist," it isn't libel; but if I make the same statement to your boss and can't back it up, it could be.  See this interesting article on libel claims arising from plagiarism allegations.) If you are planning on complaining to your co-author's boss or the publication's editor or making your grievance known to the public at large (e.g., on your blog or a gripe site), it may be wise to consult a lawyer first.

5.  Decide how to complain. A face-to-face meeting is often the most effective means of resolving any dispute.  Emails and letters have the virtue of giving you time to collect your thoughts and providing a record of what has been said.  Your  complaint should generally make clear (a) your basis for claiming that you were promised a certain form of credit; (b) the way in which the promise was breached; (c) what you want your co-author to do by way of remedy; and (d) the deadline for implementing the remedy.  These are the classic elements of a lawyer's letter.  If you threaten litigation, it should not be an idle threat.

6.  Decide early on how far you are willing to go.  If litigation is a genuine consideration, see that lawyer sooner rather than later. Consider whether there is anything you would be willing to give in return for the remedy you are seeking.

7.  Keep a record of what you've done to pursue your complaint.  Memorializing your conversations and keeping copies of your emails and letters of complaint may be important both offensively and defensively.

8.  Be persistent but never harass.  

9. Mediation? Is there anyone that both you and your co-author would trust to help facilitate a resolution?
10.  Small claims court?  Julie could pursue a claim for breach of contract in small claims court.  In most jurisdictions, individuals need not appear through a lawyer, although corporations must.  You can't recover much money in small claims court; usually the court's jurisdiction is limited to claims of a few thousand dollars. In Julia's case, however, the problem is that she really doesn't have any financial damages, and, even in small claims court, they don't award you money just for being right.

In some contexts, there may be non-judicial means of seeking redress.  In the film industry, the Writers Guild of America and the Directors Guild of America have rules on properly crediting writers and mechanisms for enforcing them.  Universities often have ethics committees that will review disputes over proper crediting of co-authors.  Some scholarly and professional organizations will also investigate accusations of failure to credit and the related offense of plagiarism.

So what should Julia do?  If she had a claim of co-authorship of a hit Broadway musical or a Michael Jackson song, full-fledged litigation might be worth considering. But, with no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the most cost-effective result she could reasonably hope for is to argue, bluster, or cajole her co-authors into giving her credit in the online version of the article.  And an apology.

The next time, she will know to document her agreement on co-author credit by an exchange of emails.  On bigger projects, as discussed in this prior post, she should consider entering into a simple collaboration agreement.

[Hat tip to DJF for editorial suggestions.]