Introduction: Whose Book is it Anyway? A View from Elsewhere on Publishing, Copyright and Creativity

Janis Jefferies and Sarah Kember

This anthology offers an approach to publishing that does more than ask if current copyright frameworks are fit for purpose in a digital age. It opens out the copyright debate, first to questions of open access, ethics and creativity and second to views from elsewhere — artist’s perspectives, writer’s perspectives, feminist, and international perspectives that are too often marginalized or elided altogether. The book investigates the future of publishing in the digital age, in particular the role of access, ethics and creativity and their relation to copyright within or from the perspective of creative practice. Contributions were commissioned as part of our role in CREATe (Centre for Copyright, Regulation, Enterprise and Technology)1 and include publishers (such as Michael Bhaskar, co-founder of Canelo), industry experts (such as Sophie Rochester, founder of The Literary Platform and Yodomo), academics (including legal scholars Ronan Deazley and Smita Kheria as well as arts and humanities scholars such as Janneke Adema and Eva Weinmayr), writers (such as the poet John Cayley) and artists (including J. R. Carpenter).

Whose Book is it Anyway? follows the trajectory of a four-year research project conducted through a series of workshops held at venues ranging from Nesta, the London Book Fair and the British Library to The Guardian and the V&A. The research was predicated on what is colloquially termed the ‘copyfight’, brought into focus by UK reforms in intellectual property (IP) and open access2 and producing something of an impasse or standoff between those in the publishing industry who are concerned to retain, or even strengthen copyright in a digital context and, on the other hand, the technology industry and its advocates in government who regard intellectual property rights as more of an impediment than an incentive to innovation and economic growth.

We began by examining a range of hopes and fears concerning the extent to which the UK copyright framework (prior to the implementation of the proposed reforms)3 was considered fit for purpose in relation to writing and publishing in the digital age. Our concern was to frame these hopes and fears through what Raymond Williams terms a ‘structure of feeling’ about technology.4 In other words, there seemed to be a degree of consensus that digital technology is a game changer in publishing, whether those changes were positive or negative with respect to copyright. The question concerning technology, and particularly technology as an agent of change, is almost as fraught as the question concerning intellectual property as an agent of creativity. The concept of technological determinism encompasses the possibility that technology causes, or conversely, is the effect of wider social and economic changes. As a causal agent, technology sits in the middle of the copyfight, both maintaining, and effectively negating opposing viewpoints. We might point to a consensual technological determinism that both undermines and structures the opposition between a culture that is free (and freely shared) and one that is, necessarily, proprietorial. The consensus sounds something like this: in the digital era, copyright is broken and must therefore be fixed. Either copyright is broken and it must be reformed and reinforced or it is broken and must be rendered redundant or reduced through a number of exceptions. What maintains the consensus is an ontology of the digital as copying, sharing, openness and re-use — the idea that the Internet particularly is all about, or just is sharing, whether that takes place person to person or from many to many. Either we go with the very nature and being of technology or we take tougher steps to guard against it. However, it might be more useful to think less about the essence of technology and more about its affordances — the types of activity and behaviour that it, along with other forms of agency, both enables and constrains. The affordances of digital technology are less monolithic than its alleged essence. They might, for example, be about both owning and sharing cultural content and they are certainly not reducible to economic growth.

The technological consensus concerning the need for copyright reform dilutes the apparent conflict of the copyfight and, more importantly, depoliticizes the current debate about publishing. Taken together with the related agenda for open access reform, the question of copyright in a digital age delimits what can be said and done with respect to academic publishing, at least. In a closed workshop that took place at Goldsmiths, University of London in 2014, a small group of academic publishers, together with artists involved in publishing experiments, examined some of the issues that might, but at the time did not impinge on UK policy. These included questions about ethics and responsibility in publishing as well as issues about creative invention, experimentation and intervention that cut across, or combine with a neoliberal agenda solely focused on innovation. The workshop also considered the conditions of possibility or the social and political context surrounding publishing activity and underlying issues of scholarly practice, such as peer review, citation and free labour that are political in the sense that they adhere to existing divisions in gender, race, class and career stage.

It is interesting to note that the College Art Association (CAA) in the US commissioned a report on Fair Use, which was then published as a Code of Best Practice in Fair Use for the Visual Arts in 2015. The Associate Acquisitions Editor at MIT Press, Victoria Hindley, was sufficiently motivated to work with her colleagues to pursue a fair use initiative of their own. With support from the Executive Editor, Press Director and legal counsel Hindley helped to define a progressive position in support of responsible fair use. MIT Press has developed proposed new contract language in support of a position that no longer requires authors to indemnify the press when they have made a reasonable good faith determination of fair use; and, to further empower artists, the press has crafted permissions guidelines that take advantage of the CAA Code and refers authors to it. Martha Rosler, whose ‘Bringing the War Home: House Beautiful 1967–72’ is in the TATE’s collection, has for many years incorporated into her work images circulating in what she has called the public sphere of mass media, including newspapers, magazines, and television, without considering copyright. Since Rosler is a leading contemporary critical voice within feminist discourse, processes like hers, as for many artists, constitute an essential form of critique and a means of inviting the reader/viewer to rethink the boundaries between the public and the private, the social and political.

In his contribution to this volume, Ronan Deazley draws our attention to commercial journal publishers that profit enormously from academic free labour (writing, editing, peer reviewing) and then refuse to implement copyright exceptions, for example, concerning the use of comic art within a piece of comic scholarship. The same publishers, we might add, may also be levying article processing charges for the privilege of publishing open access. As Deazley suggests, one option available to authors is to withdraw their labour. That labour might then be redirected towards more ethical, responsible and inventive publishers, including, among the workshop discussants, Ada. A Journal of Gender, New Media and Technology, Mattering Press, Mute Publishing and Goldsmiths Press.

Based on this and other workshops, our research suggested that the reform agenda in the UK limited publishing praxis and, while creating polarized, ideological stances, effectively neutered any meaningful political engagement — for example, about whether culture and knowledge should be publicly or privately owned — by means of a technological consensus. Where copyright reform required critique, critique tended to be subsumed within pro- and anti-reform stances. The value of critique lies in its ability to indicate a way through such dialectical structures. In our case, it was brought to bear on the impasse, the somewhat asymmetrical standoff in the relation between publishers and, specifically the Publishers Association (anti-reform) on the one hand, and the technology industries, specifically Google on the other. Publishing is represented at government level by the Department of Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS). The technology industries are represented by Business, Innovation and Skills (BIS). A 2013 DCMS report entitled ‘Supporting the Creative Economy’ rejected the proposal for reforms set out by Professor Ian Hargreaves, and not only lamented the UK government’s favourable response to the proposal, but accused it of letting the tech industry, Google in particular, in through the back door:

Following all the evidence we have received, we think Hargreaves is wrong in the benefits his report claims for his recommended changes to UK copyright law. We regret that the Hargreaves report adopts a significantly low standard in relation to the need for objective evidence in determining copyright policy. We do not consider Professor Hargreaves has adequately assessed the dangers of putting the established system of copyright at risk for no obvious benefit. We are deeply concerned that there is an underlying agenda driven at least partly by technology companies (Google foremost among them) which, if pursued uncritically, could cause irreversible damage to the creative sector on which the United Kingdom’s future prosperity will significantly depend.5

Rather than aligning our CREATe project with either BIS or DCMS, pro- or anti-reform agendas, we sought to develop a critical framework based on the testimony of artists, writers and academics as well as publishers, agents and technology developers. Our aim was not to balance the debate as much as to open out the reform agenda and signal the possibility of moving beyond technologically deterministic hopes and fears as well as simplistic ideological divisions between a notion of free culture or knowledge and one that is proprietorial.

The problem with our initial question — about whether the UK copyright system was fit for purpose in a digital age — was that it had the capacity to reinforce rather than challenge existing ideological divisions. It could produce arguments in favour of change and also some defensive, ‘no change needed’ reactions. We commissioned a series of position papers (see appendix) that demonstrate that this polarization did not always occur, but by reframing the initial question, posing it more in terms of how writers and artists may eat, we strove to avoid false dichotomies and the worst pitfalls of a technological imaginary. We also wanted to question the alignment between creativity and economic growth that had been so clearly signalled in the first phase of the research, avoiding, as much as possible, the opposition between a neoliberal and romantic reading of creativity and instead asking artists, writers and publishers to reflect on the always antagonistic but never purely oppositional relation between writing for love and writing for money.

Financial incentive is one of the key assumptions underpinning intellectual property laws. That remains the case even as those laws become subject to reform. Hargreaves recognizes that rights that ‘support growth by promoting innovation through the offer of a temporary monopoly to creators and inventors’ might also ‘stifle growth where transaction costs are high or rights are fragmented in a way that makes them hard to access’. If the problem with IP is that it fosters a closed market dominated by established players in technology and content, the solution, he suggests, is to redesign IP in order to facilitate a fairer, more transparent, more open and competitive market that encourages new entrants and enables rather than constrains further innovation. The solution to piracy in a digital world ‘where copying and distribution are more or less free’, is not, for Hargreaves, copyright enforcement as much as a modernization of copyright law that encourages ‘open and competitive markets in licensed digital content’.6 It is clear that Hargreaves’ reforms are oriented towards the technology industries, but he applies the same principles to publishing and the so-called ‘creative industries’ because he recognizes their economic value.7

The assumption that creators are predominantly if not exclusively motivated by economic rights and financial reward continues to be held at policy level despite a number of academic studies that have subjected it to critical examination.8 Where Ruth Towse underlines the importance of moral rights, Schlesinger and Waelde, starting from the observation that ‘both policy and law have relatively little engagement with most cultural work and what makes it tick’, examine the relevance of the rights regime for how dancers and musicians make a living.9 Focusing on portfolio work undertaken in conditions of relative economic precarity, they emphasize ‘the trade-offs made between making money through commercial activities and making little or none through the pursuit of creative and aesthetic goals’.10 On the basis that this trade-off applies to writers as much as dancers and musicians, and bearing in mind the fall in author’s earnings — a drop of 19% in the decade from 2005 to 2015 — we might expect the balance to be increasingly skewed in favour of non-financial incentives.11

However, as Smita Kheria shows in her contribution to this book, it is as erroneous to dismiss the idea as to assume that economic reward is what drives writers to write. As a means of securing economic remuneration, of any scale, copyright has a more complex, less ‘all or nothing’ role to play in creative practice. From the point of view of the writers Kheria interviewed, copyright might contribute to earnings but, just as importantly, have a symbolic role in bestowing value and recognition on writing as a way of life. The role of copyright is seen by some writers to be more important in a digital environment that simultaneously threatens and validates their rights over an original work by deeming it worthy of being shared and reused. Here, the economic rights and moral interests of individual authors are reappraised — by the authors themselves — in relation to a wider online community of users, including users who might become the authors of secondary or derivative works such as, for example, fan fiction.

If the role of copyright in creative practice is complex in as far as it is both economic and social, pertaining to individuals and communities, to what extent is that complexity reflected in copyright reforms? UK copyright reforms subsequent to Hargreaves’ review are more limited than the scope of the review would indicate.12 Centred on parody, quotation, research, text and data mining, education and teaching, archiving and preservation, public administration and the generation of accessible formats for people with disabilities, the reforms amount to a set of minimal copyright exceptions that are contained within the remit of fair dealing. Fair dealing is colloquially understood as ‘fair stealing’ and it is a means of preserving the principles of copyright by ensuring that the amount taken or borrowed from a work is reasonable and appropriate and the market value is not adversely affected. Fair dealing is the wiggle room within the existing UK (and Canadian) copyright system. At most, this has been extended slightly, while the system stays in place. Where copyright reforms in the UK are in themselves surprisingly conservative, the major challenge to copyright comes through related reforms in open access, which apply principally to academic publishing.

We will address the question of open access shortly, but it seems that complexity, derived from the experience of creative practitioners, along with criticality, is something of an anathema to copyright law and to the factions invested in it. Set up in order to analyse and critically investigate the case for IP reform, CREATe itself (both a research centre and a consortium of Scottish and English universities) was initially caught up in the copyright wars. In a blog published in The Bookseller (a UK trade publishing magazine) in 2013, CREATe director Martin Kretschmer was forced to deny an accusation by Richard Mollet, then Chief Executive of the Publishers Association, that the project was biased in favour of copyright reform.13 Kretschmer also defended the role of academic research as a way of breaking the deadlock between what he called the ‘incumbents’ and the ‘insurgents’:

They speak with different voices, and face different challenges. Mollet’s instincts are with the incumbents, and there is nothing wrong with that. Still, incumbents need happy customers as much as anyone, and insurgents are usually much better at sensing new needs or disaffection. Where there are large swathes of unhappy customers — for example in relation to research publications (witness the data mining debate) — the reflex to reach for stronger rights and enforcement may have similar results as it did in the music industry. We don’t know but we can find out. This is what research is about.

The division between incumbents and insurgents, the copyright wars themselves, are a distraction, if not from the realities of technological change and the associated shifts in consumer demand,14 then from the underlying politics of communication. This, as Sarah Kember has previously argued,15 has to do with the privatization, marketization and standardization of scholarly and creative practice; the neoliberal framing of the so-called knowledge and creative industries and the transformation of the scholar, writer and artist into the entrepreneur or the knowledge and creative professional.

Kember’s position is that copyright and open access reforms mask the politics of communication in a narrative of crisis centred on technology. It is also that open access effectively delivers the ‘real’ copyright reforms by obliging the public sector, universities in particular, to make published works freely available for commercial use in the private sector. As the sociologist John Holmwood notes, a key problem with open access, which on one level is simply about removing price barriers to published research and widening readership, is precisely this asymmetric obligation to be open.16

The Finch report on open access, published in 2012 (the year after Hargreaves’ review of IP), maintains that barriers to access, especially when research is publicly funded ‘are increasingly unacceptable in an online world’. That is, they ‘restrict the innovation, growth and other benefits’ that might otherwise accrue.17 A concern here with public access to publicly funded research by means of ‘enhanced transparency, openness and accountability’ leads to an emphasis on ‘closer linkages between research and innovation, with benefits for public policy and services, and for economic growth’ [my emphasis]. Access here means access to research for industry and enterprises. The Finch recommendations in favour of gold open access publishing18 funded by author or article processing charges (APCs) plus minimal restrictions on the rights of use and re-use are now incorporated into the UK Higher Education sector.19 The changes are controversial, not least since the Creative Commons license (CC BY) mandated by Research Councils UK (RCUK) — which is now renamed as Research England/UKRI — allows for commercial reuse of research material with attribution rather than the author’s permission. An alternative would be a non-commercial share-alike license (CC BY-NC-SA) or one that simply allows non-commercial users to download and share work as long as the author is credited (CC BY-NC-ND).

Reforms of open access are ongoing in the UK and across mainland Europe. At the time of writing, the UK is a signatory to Plan S, an initiative by the European Commission to accelerate the transition to full and immediate open access.20 What makes the UK unique is that it ties a mandate (rather than a recommendation) to the national research audit, the Research Excellence Framework (REF), making open access article (REF 2021) and monograph (REF 2027) publishing a condition of entry without any commitment to additional public funding. This has raised concerns for the future of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences in the UK, which receive significantly less funding than STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Maths) fields and will face the higher costs of monograph publishing. The British Academy’s position paper on open access monograph publishing raises further questions, notably about the extent to which UK academics will be disadvantaged by having restrictions placed on where they can publish, whether they or their institution can afford to and whether it will be feasible to collaborate with colleagues outside of the UK.21

Martin Paul Eve, an advocate of open access, or more specifically, of a re-politicized open access, still recognizes it as an instrument of neoliberalism understood as ‘the practice of using the free market as the assignation of value.’22 Key traits of neoliberalism include, for Eve, a concern with quantification and measurement, the ‘belief that all aspects of society are best handled on a for-profit basis through competition’ and an emphasis on openness, transparency and accountability in order to facilitate quantification. The UK’s open access mandate certainly highlights neoliberal values, but beyond a top-down government agenda, the values of open access remain contested by various stakeholders, with a range of library and scholar-led publishing initiatives (such as new university presses) as well as funder initiatives driving the agenda forwards.

Dissent does exist within academia. Meera Sabaratnam and Paul Kirby, for example, refer to open access as a threat to academic freedom.23 They argue that it places pressure on institutions to distribute inadequate funding (which they cannot do fairly, openly or transparently) and increases academic inequality — within and between institutions — ‘by linking prestige in research and publishing to the capacity to pay APCs, rather than to academic qualities.’ There is a question mark then, not only over who publishes and where, but over what is considered publishable — the kind of work produced. Academic research may very well be judged by standards other than peer review. David Berry correctly observes that open access is a disruption strategy within the UK’s university sector, one that ‘will have dire implications for academic labour, thought and freedom if it is not contested.’24 For him too, it is about obtaining ‘greater public subsidy for the private sector’s use of university research outputs’ without any reciprocal contribution. For this reason, Kember has argued that academics concerned with the politics of communication should ‘open out from open access’25 and turn their attention from copyright per se26 towards the incursion of venture capital into higher education and the profiteering by, for example, academia.edu, that is already taking place in the name of openness.

Whether or not it is possible to re-politicize open access itself — and a range of scholars and publishers, many associated with the Radical Open Access Movement27 maintain that it is — or indeed whether it is possible to reverse neoliberal policies within higher education, it is possible and necessary to politicize the role of copyright and open access reform in publishing and to explore various modes and practices of critical intervention. Contributors to this volume engage these tasks in diverse ways and with very different voices and opinions. Some speak purely as creative practitioners while others, from within or outside of the academy, discuss the role of creative practice. Some contributors touch lightly on the question of copyright, extending it in relation to open access, ethics or creativity. There is not a singular argument or viewpoint here, but there is a shared sense of the value of creative practice and the importance of critical intervention in publishing. Danuta Kean, writing here, reminds us that publishing is an industry that is still somewhat self-defeating in its lack of racial diversity. Mindful of the legacy of artist and feminist publishing initiatives in the UK and internationally, we have sought the viewpoints and the investments of a range of different constituents in the future of academic and trade publishing.

We have organised the book into two sections. The first section extends questions of copyright to those of open access, ethics and creativity in publishing; the second looks at views from elsewhere. In Part I, John Cayley and Daniel C. Howe offer a statement (originally commissioned as one of our position papers — see appendix) by The Readers Project, a collective of poetic readers that emerge in relation to various texts. The text discussed and illustrated here is a poetic reading of Samuel Beckett’s late novella How It Is. Cayley and Howe contrast their creative appropriation of Beckett’s text — which runs ‘counter to the customs and laws of intellectual property and defies conventions of authorship’ while remaining respectful to the original work, oriented to the ‘commons of language’ and responsive to the evolving technologies of literary practice — with further developments in aggressive data mining, big tech and AI that no longer support those values. If the law was an ass prior to these developments, they ask, what is it now? Also in Part I, Louise O’Hare looks askew at copyright in Cuba through the prism of an anti-copyright art magazine. O’Hare foregrounds publishing itself as a creative practice that attends to form as well as content. Janneke Adema decouples the practice of writing from economic rights and remuneration and argues that we should think about publishing less in terms of creative autonomies — author and work — and more in terms of creative communities and relationalities in which authors and works intersect with each other in ways that are dynamic and co-constitutive. Adema’s contribution resonates with that of Joseph Turcotte in Part II of the book. Turcotte maintains that IP law simply does not align with creative practice in as far as creativity is inherently relational and copyright is predicated on autonomies. Turcotte draws on a feminist critique of copyright law which argues that ‘copyright is built around certain conceptions of the self, society and worth, which translate, through law, into norms about who can speak, who can listen, what can be said and with what force of authority’.28 In as far as copyright entrenches liberal assumptions and social norms, feminist legal studies has looked favourably on the open access movement that appears to supersede it and has foregrounded a key intervention that replaces a copyright system based on the autonomy of author and work, with one based on relationalities between authors and works within and across specific social situations.

Whose Book is it Anyway? combines these more speculative perspectives on the future of copyright and the future of publishing with those that look at current practice in a historical context. Michael Bhaskar, in Part I, argues that in a digital environment in which anyone can publish and so much content is freely shared, the traditional roles performed by publishers — filtering and amplification — become more, not less important. Sophie Rochester, also in Part I, returns to the question of what motivates writers when rights-related income is falling while J. R. Carpenter, in Part II, locates writing as a creative practice within traditions such as textual appropriation or borrowing that constitute a challenge to copyright. Eva Weinmayr, along with Carpenter, offers an artist’s view on copyright as a system that strives to protect rather than proliferate ideas. Weinmayr offers a review of case law in an art context while Muriel Swijghuisen Reigersberg, echoing Adema and Turcotte, questions copyright’s ability to recognize cross-cultural co-created works in a music context. Swijghuisen Reigersberg’s main contribution to this volume is to highlight the challenge that co-authorship, along with indigenous cultural and moral rights, pose to open access as well as to copyright policy.

Taken together, these perspectives on creative practice provide a historical and critical framework for understanding and intervening in the current copyright dialectic. They demonstrate, sometimes by sharing examples of that practice (Cayley and Howe, Carpenter), sometimes from an international perspective (O’Hare, Swijghuisen Reigersberg, Turcotte and Groth) how the law has been, and is being lived with. Based on processes of appropriation, remix, ‘reinterpretation, recombination and transformation’, creative practices have always adapted to, worked around, and in a key sense flouted copyright law.29 This of course raises a question about whether copyright, in its current, digital context, needs to be either strengthened or loosened. If copyright has, in effect, always been messy, the final question addressed in this book is not only whether copyright ever needed to be reformed along the lines originally determined by Hargreaves and Finch, but whether it even needs to be made relational or remixed, according to the perspectives foregrounded here. Simon Groth, in our final chapter, suggests that a remixed copyright system would not be based on rights protection for the individual, presumed to be autonomous author and his or her work, but rather on a combination of mutual, author to author, author to reader rights and responsibilities for the always already remixed work. Rather than regarding remix or relationality programmatically, as the next stage in the reformation of copyright, it might be better to see it as an intervention and as antagonist: a means of re-politicizing copyright and publishing in the face of a reformist technological consensus.

Works Cited

Berry, D. (2017) ‘The Uses of Open Access’, STUNLAW: Philosophy and Critique for a Digital Age, 16 February, http://stunlaw.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-uses-of-open-access.html

Craig, C. Turcotte, J. F. and Coombe, J. (2011) ‘What’s Feminist about Open Access? A Relational Approach to Copyright in the Academy’, feminists@law 1.1, http://journals.kent.ac.uk/kent/index.php/feministsatlaw/article/view/7/54

Craig, C. J. (2011) ‘Introduction — Copyright, Communication & Culture: Towards a Relational Theory of Copyright Law’, Comparative Research in Law & Political Economy. Research Paper No. 23/2011, https://digitalcommons.osgoode.yorku.ca/cgi/clpe/61

Eve, M. P. (10 March 2013) ‘Open Access, “Neoliberalism”, “Impact” and the Privatisation of Knowledge’, http://www.martineve.com/2013/03/10/open-access-neoliberalism-impact-and-the-privatisation-of-knowledge/

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Gibson, J. Johnson, P. and Dimita, G. (2015) The Business of Being an Author: A Survey of Author’s Earnings and Contracts (Queen Mary: University of London), https://orca.cf.ac.uk/72431/1/FinalReport-ForWebPublication.pdf

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IPO (2014) ‘Exceptions to Copyright: An Overview’, Intellectual Property Office report, https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/448274/Exceptions_to_copyright_-_Guidance_for_creators_and_copyright_owners.pdf

Kember, S. (2014) ‘Opening Out from Open Access: Writing and Publishing in Response to Neoliberalism’, Ada: A Journal of Gender, New Media, and Technology 4, https://doi.org/10.7264/N31C1V51

— (2014) ‘Why Write? Feminism, Publishing and the Politics of Communication’, New Formations 83, 99–117.

— (2016) ‘Why Publish?’ Learned Publishing, special issue The University Press Redux 29:S1, 348–53, https://doi.org/10.1002/leap.1042

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Towes, R. (2006) ‘Copyright and Artists: A View from Cultural Economics’ Journal of Economic Surveys 20.4, 569–85.

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