In his essay “Elogio de la fotocopia” (In Praise of Photocopies) Alejandro Zambra reminisces about his days as an impoverished student in Chile, and a practice that would drive many an Author Online™ insane with rage:
“It’s good to remember that we learned how to read with those photocopies we would wait impatiently for... Enormous and indefatigable machines would supply us with the literature we wanted, for a few pesos.”1
I have similar memories: if it weren’t because of photocopies I would have read a quarter of the books I read when I was growing up in Argentina, needless to say that photocopies where the one way we could afford to access the course materials at university. I guess the kids of today will tomorrow write essays about ebooks, how easy it was to find them for free online, how formative the illegal operation was.
I won’t apologise for my involvement in book piracy, for the simple reason that I come from a place where books are a luxury you can’t always afford, especially when you are young and broke. And believe it or not, even in the so-called First World there are people who can’t afford books. And no, there aren’t libraries everywhere, or they might not be so well-stoked, or they are closing down, just look around you if you happen to be in the UK. This is something that cultural gatekeepers often choose to ignore when they launch into their impassioned defence of copyright laws that backdate several decades (or even centuries)2. In other words, the debate over proper remuneration for authors many times becomes a debate about how to better arrest the free circulation of culture at times when the public access to culture is waning, and this is something I can’t feel comfortable with. And in more practical terms, like it or not, book piracy creates readers: I wouldn’t be a bibliophile today were it not for those photocopies and I certainly wouldn’t spend a large portion of my disposable income on books. This is an experience replicated by many — books are addictive, you see.
Now, I am not a utopian and understand that without copyright laws there’d be no publishing industry and without an industry there’d be fewer books, which in my opinion isn’t necessarily a terrible thing for literature, since I much rather have fewer but better books instead of the bucketfuls of manure that are published day in day out by an industry that has to sustain itself3. Fewer books (perhaps) which is is not the same as saying there’d be no literature, because literature exists somewhere else, beyond any industry — to equate one with the other is simply foolish, as foolish as thinking that the only serious writers are those who think of their writing as a profession. All of this to say that unless you one of the shrinking minority who actually lives off their books, copyright isn’t necessarily your friend and you shouldn’t lose sleep over your work being accessed for free4.
Self-styled unions looking after the interests of authors would benefit many more of their members if they campaigned for the preservation of libraries and the appreciation of culture than by obsessing with the enforcement of copyright5. Making a decent living off books is the privilege of just a few and this isn’t new: most of the writers we read and celebrate as central to the history of literature had a day job that paid the bills. Most writers aren’t making money off their books not because of Z Library (R.I.P. / not R.I.P.) or a broke kid photocopying a novel. Writers don’t make money because it’s very fucking difficult to make money off books and anyone who tells you otherwise it’s just lying to you, probably in order to sell you some snake oil. Of course people deserve to be paid for their labour, I’m not saying they shouldn’t. I am being realistic: for most authors, most of their writing-related income will come from activities such as teaching, talks, the occasional paid commission, editing, translation, and advances that can take years to earn out, so that you can finally start to get those royalties6.
So let me do you big favour: if you want to get into writing because you think you’ll make good money off books just give up the idea and train in finance or law, or anything else equally profitable — you’ll make more money, in a much easier way, and you won’t have to worry about people stealing your work. And if you are one of the ever shrinking minority who actually lives off their books: good on you, I applaud you and can understand that copyright is your friend7. But it isn’t mine, in the same way that it isn’t one to the vast majority of us who spend our lives putting words on empty pages, who live for the moment when can sit down to do it. My day job might be stopping me from writing a bestseller so that I can call myself a professional author like you. But at least I don’t have to worry about a kid in some impoverished part of the world downloading my work for free8.
My translation. I say this in case some plank comes shouting “NAME THE TRANSLATOR!”.
And that are just outright indefensible in their current form. For example, the common 70 years after the death of an author for their work to enter the public domain.
That said, in my humble opinion the best books are these days published by independent presses and many of these independent presses (at least in the UK) receive government funds of one form or another. Independent is a word that does a lot of heavy lifting, you see. Part of receiving said grants should involve the obligation for them to self-pirate. I am, of course, only joking.
And let’s not even mention how copyright can be weaponised in order to put limits to creation. If you haven’t heard about Pablo Katchadjian and his El Aleph engordado, and the ridiculous court case he ended up with, check this out. Luckily for Pablo and sanity the ordeal is now over.
And since according to their own description they are a union — you know who I’m talking about… — it would be nice if they actually turned up at picket lines too. I’m sure they’d have beautiful banners, what with all the talent they represent.
By which time the publisher might not even exist anymore.
I probably won’t read your work, though, not even for free.
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