ednesday, June 16, 2004, is the centenary of "Bloomsday," the day memorialized in James Joyce's Ulysses. This controversial novel takes place on a single day in 1904, when an advertising man named Leopold Bloom wanders through Dublin, reflecting on the tragedies in his life and crossing paths with a young teacher named Stephen Dedalus.
Not much of a plot, I'll grant you. But there are many who find the novel's evocation of a single day in a single city to be a work of literary genius. I can see their point, judging parts of the novel to be brilliant while rating it too damned long and slow.
But my opinions on James Joyce are not the issue here. In fact, Mr. Joyce has no connection at all to sci-fi and fantasy. Unlike Mark Twain or other classic authors, he published nothing that could reasonably be co-opted by the field. And Robert A. Heinlein wrote in 1959 that James Joyce was incapable of interpreting "the seething new world of atomic power, antibiotics and interplanetary travel."
What makes Joyce relevant to our subject this week is not his themes or style, but the matter of copyright.
Debating the copy's rights
The city of Dublin—site of Bloomsday—is putting on a big show next week, the culmination of months of events leading to a celebration of Joyce's novel called "ReJoyce Dublin 2004."
Looming over ReJoyce, however, is the threat of lawsuit: Back in February, Joyce's grandson Stephen put ReJoyce Dublin on notice that any unauthorized readings or performances of Joyce's works would subject the city to a lawsuit.
Picture this: a festival dedicated to an author's work, complete with tours of the very real historical locations in the novel, readings, performances, even meals using menus from the text—all threatened by what strikes me as grumpiness. (How any of this activity could damage Joyce's work is beyond me.)
What's a little strange about this is that Joyce's works went out of copyright on Dec. 1, 1991—50 years after the author's death.
However, new European Union copyright laws extended the term of copyright to death plus 70 years. In 1995, then, the Joyce estate was able to re-establish control over the material.
For decades, U.S. laws were quite different from those in Europe, with works being protected for 28 years from publication, with a 28-year renewal. U.S. copyright laws were revamped in 1978, and changed again in 1989, when we signed the Berne Accord, and changed yet again in 1998.
At the moment, the term of a U.S. copyright is 70 years from the author's death, or from the death of the last author of a team, provided the work was not "for hire."
However, "works for hire," or copyright in the name of a corporation, can last 95 years.
How come? Well, about a decade ago the Disney Corporation realized that control of its oldest properties, beginning with the animated Steamboat Willie, which introduced Mickey Mouse, was about to expire. A little lobbying, a few campaign contributions, a lot of PR work ensued—in 1998 the U.S. Congress passed the Sonny Bono Copyright Extension Law, which was signed by President Clinton.
So Disney was spared the ignominy of seeing Mickey, and soon after, films like Snow White and Fantasia, passing into the public domain—and out of that warm world of control and profitability.
The ownership of a novel or short story is easy to establish. But what about a film? A television series? What about a game?
This is particularly relevant to sci-fi and fantasy, since it is the worlds—even more than the heroes—that are the heart of the field. Middle-earth. Asimov's Foundation. Herbert's Dune. McCaffrey's Pern. Iain M. Banks' The Culture.
When the creators of these worlds work in harmonious accord with their corporate partners, all is right. Even when not—as with Gene Roddenberry and Paramount for many years—accommodations can be made.
But what happens when the custodian of rights makes arbitrary decisions? Is the public served?
Is the creator served?
Who owns the future?
There is a simmering debate concerning intellectual property—what is the appropriate term for copyright? Some people believe that it should be zero: Given the rampant amount of piracy and the inability of studios and publishers to develop encryption technology, we might be headed there. Others want the longest possible term.
I like the idea of getting paid if someone wants to reprint one of my stories or novels.
But what rights do I have in an episode of someone else's television series? Or in a month's worth of consulting on a video game? Or in the suggestion of a contest for a "reality" series?
Zero.
What rights should I have? It's all well and good for my work to be protected during my lifetime, even during the lifetime of my immediate children.
But do my theoretical grandchildren, circa 2090, deserve to have power over readings of my novels?
Is there any justification for Wal-Mart/Paramount/Halliburton Studios to have total control of Star Trek into the 22nd century? Is the public served? Is the work served?
We'll find out, I guess.
The seething factors that shape a future aren't all atomic power, antibiotics or interplanetary travel—sometimes the issue is law.
I have a James Joyce story of my own.
In addition to writing scripts, novels, online opinion pieces and far too many items that read "pay to the order of," I am the principal author of three editions of a big (you should have seen the manuscript) biographical encyclopedia called Who's Who in Space, which contains profiles of every astronaut, cosmonaut and international space traveler in the world.
Imagine my reaction when, coming late in life to Ulysses and finding the following passage on page 476 of the Random House edition, where Bloom, wandering through the Dublin night, stumbles across a stand offering "cheap reprints of the World's Twelve Worst Books," among them Was Jesus a Sun Myth? (historic) ... Love Letters of Mother Assistant (erotic), Who's Who in Space (astric). ..."
Yes, my book had been dissed by one of the great writers of the age—60 years prior to its publication!
That's a sci-fi story.
Michael Cassutt's latest filmed teleplay, Total Awareness for USA Networks' The Dead Zone, airs on July 4. He is currently writing a project for Fox Studios.
