A Modest Proposal: Why the UK Government Should Appoint Me as Minister of Authorial Demise Records

Original Publication Date vs. Author’s Death Date

As I gather stories for anthologies of fiction about, let’s say, mesmerist mayhem or lunar life, my research often leads to the work of British authors. To sell these anthologies in the UK, I must either secure publishing rights — a process complex enough to scare me off — or affirm that the work is in the public domain. The latter basically means it’s old enough that I can do just about whatever I want with it. Phrased differently, the work is no longer under copyright protection. Since my interests lean toward the 1800s and early 1900s anyway, almost all of the stuff I wind up anthologizing is over a century old and most of the authors have long since given up the ghost. Therefore, seeking material in the public domain makes sense.

Now, the rules of what’s in the public domain differs from country to country. For my concerns, U.S. copyright law is pretty easy: I can reprint written works originally published before 1928 because they’re 95+ years old. The UK — and a good many other countries — use a different standard, one based on the author’s death date rather than publication date. There, if the author died 70+ years ago, I’m free to reprint the material. If all goes to plan, I won’t be hearing from the Arthur Conan Doyle estate, which is kind of Britain’s answer to Disney in terms of litigating copyright.

The U.S. has come to share this death + 70 years rule for more recent works. This is not great news for future anthologists because it’s loads easier to establish a publication date than a death date. For example, some months ago, I blogged about my struggle to confirm the death date of Elizabeth Phipps Train. It was a breeze to establish that her novel A Social Highwayman was first published in 1895 — it’s right there on the title page. But I wanted to combine that novel with Guy Boothby’s A Prince of Swindlers for the second volume of the Curated Crime Collection. And I wanted to sell this “two-in-one” volume in the UK (and in Canada and in a long list of other countries). So I had to establish Train’s death date.

Even though Train seems to have fallen out of the literary limelight in her later years, a clever associate of mine located solid evidence of the author’s death date. Phew! The volume is now available for purchase internationally.

The hard-to-find proof that Train died in 1940 — comfortably over 70 years ago.

The Ministry of Authorial Demise Records

Since I hold the UK government largely responsible for my troubles (however unfairly), I’m proposing that they hire me to serve as the Minister of Authorial Demise Records. In this position, I would oversee providing editors specifically, and the public generally, with a reliable online database of death dates of authors. I think it could be a service handled by one or two people, and I’m flexible on the ministry designation. It could be an “Office of,” a “Department of,” or an “Agency of” thing — and I know they have something called “Trusts” over there. I’ll bow (or curtsy, if preferred) to the nomenclature suggested by someone who knows more about such things than do I, a Midwest American whose knowledge rests primarily on the Ministry of Silly Walks.

I do, however, have certain modest conditions:

  • There must be a fund for visiting cemeteries throughout the UK. This, of course, is to verify death dates and not — as some might unkindly speculate — because I love wandering around old graveyards and I’m dang sure the UK has some doozies.
  • The possibility of putting the office of operations on a narrowboat must be explored. Narrowboats, not unlike bow ties, are cool! And it might be named The Authorship. It’s whimsical, you see. A little bit whimsical…
Narrowboat in Little Venice, London (1)
Mark Ahsmann, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons This image has been fairly well checked to sidestep copyright litigation.
  • If a floating office proves too difficult, a pub must be within the vicinity of a traditional one. A quaint and charming pub, mind you. Ideally, a quaint and charming pub with one of those The                 &                names.
  • There will be no “Tim Lasso” jokes. Ted came from Kansas. I’ll be coming from Oklahoma. Completely different!

That’s it! All manner of modest right there! I look forward to hearing from the proper authorities regarding this proposal by the end of the month. I thank you in advance.

— Tim

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