In New York Magazine, Justin Shubow documents some striking similarities between Toby Young’s How to Lose Friends and Alienate People (2002) and John Tierney’s New York Times Magazine story, “Masochism Central” (1996). For example:

Tierney: “350 Madison … has been called, among other things, the Palace of Pulchritude; the two men’s stores flanking the entrance, Brooks Brothers and Paul Stuart, have been compared to sentinels at the Temple of Aphrodite.”

Young: “There were so many beautiful girls at 350 it was sometimes named the ‘Palace of Pulchritude.’ I’d even heard the two men’s clothing shops that flanked the building on either side — Brooks Brothers and Paul Stewart [sic] — referred to as ’sentinels at the Temple of Aphrodite.’”

Young did footnote Tierney’s article on a nearby page, but gave no indication that these words in particular were Tierney’s. Contacted for comment, Young offered a quotable defense:

“I don’t think it’s a sort of mealy-mouthed or weasely defense to say that the standard that British journalists are expected to hold themselves to are not as high as the standards that some American journalists hold,” he explained. “We’re a little less precious about this kind of thing.”

However, notes Shubow, in 2006, the British Young seemed quite content to hold a young American to a somewhat higher standard. Remember Kaavya Viswanathan?

“The thing that amazes me about cases like hers is why the authors don’t bother to put what they’ve lifted from other sources in their own words. I mean, even when I copied out large chunks from text books in my school essays I knew enough to do that.”

Maybe Young’s less precious than he used to be.

Ashes to ashes, pulp to pulp. A forthcoming biography of Madame de Maintenon, Louis XIV’s mistress, written by Veronica Buckley (Christina, Queen of Sweden, 2004) is being recalled due to its reliance on a faulty source (”Hoax diary snares Bloomsbury,” by Claire Armitstead, the Guardian’s theblogbooks):

The problem, it turns out, is with the attribution of a little-known document Le Journal Secret de Louis XIV. Little known because it was in fact “reconstructed from historical sources” by a mischievous French scholar in 1998.

Prolific University of Florida professor James Twitchell (Branded Nation, 2004; Living It Up, 2002) has admitted to plenty of plagiarism, according to the Gainesville Sun (”UF professor Twitchell admits he plagiarized in several of his books,” by Jack Stripling):

Twitchell initially denied a pattern of plagiarism, but the 64-year-old professor was contrite and ashamed when recently confronted with a larger body of evidence.

“It’s my responsibility to make sure that the words and ideas are my own and, if not, that they are properly credited. In many cases, I have not done this,” Twitchell wrote in an e-mail Wednesday. “I have used the words of others and not properly attributed them. I am always in a hurry to get past descriptions to make my points, a hurry that has now rightly resulted in much shame and embarrassment. I have cheated by using pieces of descriptions written by others.”

(Via Galleycat.)

And I don’t know why, but this last item seems to fit on this page, too. The hype for James Frey’s Bright Shiny Morning is growing (”He’s Back: James Frey Mixes Fact and Fiction, This Time with Art,” by Kate Taylor, The New York Sun), and there’s going to be an expensive art-book companion to the novel, called Wives, Wheels, Weapons. Which makes sense, because he’s not just a writer, he’s an artist.

“Despite the fact that he writes books, he’s much more a part of the art world than the literary world,” Mr. Frey’s friend John McWhinnie said of him.  

And:

The sections about L.A. history and culture in “Bright Shiny Morning” are “sprinkled with facts that may or may not be accurate,” Mr. McWhinnie said. “The book opens with a tongue-in-cheek disclaimer that nothing in it can be considered true,” he continued. Mr. Frey intentionally mixed true and made-up “facts” — mixing real names of gang members with fake ones, for instance — in order to highlight both the factitiousness of L.A. culture and the ironies in his own authorial past.

Interestingly but perhaps not surprisingly, the book tour will avoid bookstores and focus on rock clubs, with heavy metal, light shows, and projected images supporting the author. I guess that way, if there are hecklers, it will be much harder to hear them.

Wonder if anyone will shout “Frey Bird!”?

In the Times Literary Supplement (”Erotic qualifications“), Robert Irwin offers a somewhat cheeky (ahem) review of Gaetan Brulotte and John Phillips’ Encyclopedia of Erotic Literature (Routledge):

I also finished my reading of these two volumes with the feeling that sex was a lot less fun than I had hitherto supposed.

That’s funny, I had much the same feeling after finishing Chuck Palahniuk’s new novel. (Rimshot!) Although there is a clear difference between the two works:

In general, the entries tilt towards the intellectual, the magical realist, the transgressive and the gay. In the article on the novelist Jack Fritscher, Fritscher is quoted: "The gay erotic writer is to gay non-erotic writers what Ginger Rogers was to Fred Astaire: gay erotic literature does everything gay literature does, but it does it backwards and in high heels adding to its Olympic degree of difficulty and pleasure". This is a striking but puzzling metaphor. What sort of shoes is the non-gay erotic writer wearing and for what sort of dance?

But the real reason I’m writing about Irwin’s review of the EEL (as we in the “biz” refer to it) is a throwaway line in the first paragraph:

(It is common practice in reference books to insert a bogus entry or two in order to establish copyright in any future plagiarism case in court.)

Really? Is this true? Such a practice would seem more likely to cause the publishers of a reference book to end up in court themselves than to help them drag others there.

Can any reference librarians out there weigh in on this?

In the Los Angeles Times (”A classic, or a fraud?“), Philip L. Fradkin keeps alive the ghost of Wallace Stegner’s sins, reexamining the curious case of Angle of Repose. Fradkin borrows from–but doesn’t plagiarize–Jonathan Lethem. (Although he plagiarizes other writers. Read it, you’ll see what I mean. Lethem did it better.)

Criticism of Stegner’s use of Foote’s material has circulated mainly among academics and some feminists and has gone largely unnoticed by the public, even though a magazine article in this newspaper drew attention to the issue five years ago. Whether Stegner was guilty of plagiarism and slander, as his harshest critics maintain, the complexity of the act has never been completely explored.

It’s important to remember that Stegner had permission to use the material and that he acknowledged its use, sort of. There were extenuating circumstances. As is often the case in life, it is the gray areas that predominate and are most interesting.

For another Stegner-related controversy, click here.

When Cassie Edwards was accused of plagiarism, one of her publishers quickly jumped to her defense. Now they’re taking one big step back (”A Romance Novelist Is Accused of Copying,” by Felicia R. Lee, New York Times):

"Our original comments were based on Signet’s review of a limited selection of passages," Mr. Burke’s statement said. "We believe the situation deserves further review. Therefore we will be examining all of Ms. Edwards’s books that we publish, and based on the outcome of that review we will take action to handle the matter accordingly. We want to make it known that Signet takes any and all allegations of plagiarism very seriously."

Well, I keep meaning to blog and I keep not blogging and now I’m trying to get out the door to go to Philadelphia for ALA’s Midwinter Meeting. I’ll try to post from there but, who knows, maybe I’ll be back next Tuesday making more excuses. My little clipboard of blog-worthy items is bulging–and gathering cyber-dust.

I’ll leave you with just one link–to a Publishers Weekly story (”Romance Blog Suggests Romance Writer’s Plagiarism; Signet Says It’s Fair Use,” by Lynn Andriani) that includes Google Book Search in a now-familiar role. The somewhat unusual element, however, is that the publisher is not disassociating itself from the author.

Veteran romance novelist Cassie Edwards is revered by her fans for her meticulous research when writing books. From Savage Torment to Savage Sunrise, her books (of which there are more than 100, published by Dorchester/Leisure Books, Signet, Harlequin and other houses) have detailed descriptions of Native American religion, weaponry, cuisine and other subjects. But this week, the romance review blog Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Books called attention to some striking similarities and, in some cases, verbatim passages, between Edwards’s works and a number of nonfiction books about Native American history and customs. Signet, however, is standing by the author.

If you follow the links, you’ll find, in an Associated Press article (”Romance novelist accused of lifting work,” by Hillel Italie) an interesting scene from the author’s home in Mattoon, Illinois:

NEW YORK - A popular romance novelist alleged to have lifted work from other texts acknowledged that she sometimes “takes” her material “from reference books,” but added that she didn’t know she was supposed to credit her sources.

“When you write historical romances, you’re not asked to do that,” Cassie Edwards told The Associated Press, speaking earlier this week from her home in Mattoon, Ill.

Edwards then asked her husband to get on the phone. He told the AP that his wife simply gets “ideas” from reference books.

As Google Book Search identifies more and more alleged plagiarists, the whole discussion of plagiarism is likely to become even more nuanced than it did in 2007. Or, once the number of accused authors grows large enough, accusations may elicit nothing more than yawns.

Or is that happening already?

This spat isn’t nearly as exciting as some, but I feel compelled to mention it anyway: Oprah Winfrey plugs Jerry Seinfeld’s wife Jessica’s cookbook. Missy Chase Lapine says she wrote it first. From USA Today (”Cookbook author says Seinfeld book ‘Deceptively’ similar,” by Deirdre Donahue):

Moreover, she adds, “I’m concerned and troubled that Oprah credited and applauded someone else for a technique that was out there six months earlier.”

Six months? In the cookbook biz, that must be an eternity. Lapine claims she submitted the book to HarperCollins (and Oprah, for that matter), who turned her down but published Seinfeld’s similar selections. But much of the complaint seems to be centered around the fact that Seinfeld received preferential treatment because of her famous name, which is Seinfeld.

Wait a minute–someone received extra publicity because they’re sleeping with a famous person? What is this, Russia?

I mean: this isn’t Russia!

It turns out Judd Apatow has been accused of theft before. (Thanks, Ben Segedin!) I don’t know whether he’s an idea thief or not, but he does seem to come off better than his accusers. From a very old Harper’s (”Don’t have a cow, man“):

I am sorry you are upset. I am not a thief of ideas. I’m sorry you believe differently.

For those who dislike the use of strong language: the above link leads to strong language. For those who enjoy it: you’re in luck.

In an essay on Macleans (”Is that my baby on the screen?“), writer Rebecca Eckler explains her decision to sue film director Judd Apatow. She believes that his film, Knocked Up, appropriates material from her book, Knocked Up: Confessions of a Hip Mother-to-be. Although I didn’t read the book and I haven’t seen the movie, the similarities Eckler describes do sound striking and specific:

The movie Knocked Up features a woman named Alison who becomes pregnant after getting drunk. While she gets drunk going out celebrating a promotion at work, I got drunk, and knocked up, celebrating at my engagement party. Both my book and the movie feature one night of passion and the nine months that follow. Fine. Whatever. But what got me was the fact that “Alison” was an up-and-coming television reporter; in my book I was an up-and-coming newspaper reporter.

There were other similarities that hit close to home. In my book, I have a best-friend- with-screaming-children named Ronnie, who I go to often for advice. In the movie version, Alison has a sister, named Debbie, with screaming children, who is her sounding board. Both “Alison” and I did numerous pregnancy tests. What also got my back up was that Ben, the man who gets Alison knocked up, is not only Jewish, but from Canada, like my man. (I still can’t figure out why the fact that someone was Canadian would add value to any movie.)

She also describes a particular off-color joke from her book and a similar joke that appears in the movie.

What Eckler doesn’t have is proof that Apatow read her book, even though it was published before Apatow sold his idea, a timeline that favors her claim. And because her story was out in the public sphere, she may be able to make a stronger case than an unpublished writer who claims her idea was stolen. The unpublished writer, however, may be able to prove a chain of events by which her material reached the desk of the alleged thief.

Despite the similarities between book and movie, however, I can’t help but think that Eckler’s experience isn’t all that unique. The setup is the most striking part, but from there on the events are, if not common to many expectant women, common to the vernacular of the Hollywood screenwriter (friend with screaming kids, awkwardness about having sex while pregnant, etc.). Furthermore, Eckler seems to place undue significance on the fact that the movie’s screenplay (do unpublished screenplays have covers now?) used the same image as her book’s cover: a pacifier wrapped around the stem of a martini glass. Unless film directors are now designing screenplay covers and movie posters now, that would seem to indict the art department, not the screenwriter.

Eckler may be right. Apatow may have read her book and mined it for ideas. But from everything I’ve read on the subject, it’s remarkably hard to prove infringement — you can’t copyright a scenario, only a specific expression of it, if I have it right. Eckler acknowledges that her suit is a long shot but says she’d feel worse if she didn’t try to do anything. Sounds to me like the legal maneuvering, barely begun, has already made her feel miserable enough. I’m not saying she’s not entitled to try to prove her case, or that it’s OK for filmmakers to steal from books. But some battles you lose merely by taking part.

Just ask the guys who sued Dan Brown.

It’s good to know I’m not the only one who gets behind on the news. Sometimes even newspapers get behind on the news. The Washington Post (”Writing Under the Influence,” by Bob Thompson), using Jonathan Lethem’s March-published novel, You Don’t Love Me Yet, as a peg, is just now getting around to talking to him about his great essay (”The Ecstasy of Influence“) in the February issue of Harper’s.

No, no, Jonathan Lethem concedes, he’s not really in favor of plagiarism. At least not the deceptive, thieving kind.

But he does want to spark an argument that will “explode the word.”

The Brooklyn-bred novelist (”Motherless Brooklyn,” “Fortress of Solitude”) is fascinated by what he calls “the mysteries of authorship — the idea that things arise in culture that don’t quite belong to anyone.”