This chapter examines the growth of small-press publishing in Ireland during the 2010s and early 2020s. It contextualizes the Irish small-press industry within three broad trends: 1) the global expansion of nonprofit small-press publishing from the 1980s to the present; 2) the Irish state’s financing of literary infrastructure (mostly in the form of strategic funding grants disbursed by the Arts Council of Ireland/An Chomhairle Ealaíon); and 3) the development of rights-sharing agreements between small-press publishers, such that several different small presses will release the same title simultaneously (or in near succession) in different countries. In mapping this global publishing system, the chapter shows how the much-lauded “golden age” of post-crash Irish fiction can be traced to market and institutional dynamics. Specifically, it describes how the consolidation of the international small-press industry has exerted a discernable influence on the aesthetics of contemporary Irish literature, with Irish literature evolving into a field in which certain international styles popular with Anglo-American small presses are cited, borrowed from, reworked, and made into something new.

Dictionaries participate in the “real world,” which means they are subject to legal and ethical issues relevant across professional and commercial fields. Among the legal issues, dictionaries are intellectual products and are themselves intellectual property that draws on others’ intellectual property. Thus, dictionaries encounter copyright and trademark challenges: they incorporate material under copyright or trademark protection, and they have their own copyrights and trademarks to protect. Among ethical issues, recognition afforded those who make dictionaries figures prominently, as in the history of dictionaries, many of those involved in their making were abandoned to anonymity. Recently, intelligent dictionary readers have noticed cultural biases in dictionary entries, in the language used to define words, for instance, or labeling and other assertions of value embedded in dictionary structure. Some have boycotted dictionaries over such ethical lapses and dictionaries have responded, constructing a new ethical relationship between makers and readers of dictionaries.

Since the 1960s manga has boasted a firm standing in the Japanese economy and society by continuously offering captivating and commercially successful narratives. This has been made possible in great measure by the manga magazines as the central venue of publication from the 1960s until the late 1990s, and their editor-in-charge system. This chapter surveys the multiple roles that manga editors fulfill, from corporate agent to manga artists’ collaborator and target-audience representative. It introduces the basic institutional steps of producing a manga serial while considering differences between printed and digital formats, up to and including remuneration practices. The main focus is on corporate manga’s commodity value as the common goal of both editors and artists, as well as the related fact that readership, or consumption, is given precedence over authorship, and collaborative over individual authorship.

This chapter provides an overview of manga usage in Japan. First, it traces the contours of the production side and the historic structuring function of print magazines, as well as their connections to anime. Second, the chapter delves into readership, consumption, and use. Issues of agency make room for a discussion of publications produced and distributed outside official commercial channels but in dialogue with them, and the Comic Market as their biggest sales-spot event. Third, the chapter exposes how different standards of regulation allowed eroticism to spread throughout manga and related media and material forms in Japan. Assumptions about consumption are unsettled through the example of Weekly Shōnen Jump, even as assumptions about production are disrupted through the suggestion that women are the majority of erotic manga artists today. Final thoughts are given on friction in the global circulation and reception of manga, which presents both challenges and opportunities for manga studies specifically and comics studies generally.

Guitar shop showrooms are museums of design. As visitors walk by rows of instruments, they encounter a tactile history of popular music. However, shoppers may notice that the majority of electric guitars available in the modern marketplace are strikingly similar. While there are certainly instances of radically new styles, they are outnumbered by instruments that resemble mid-twentieth century designs, such as the Fender Stratocaster and the Gibson Les Paul. This chapter explores moments in electric guitar design history that speak to marketplace tensions between historical consciousness and innovation. There is a widespread belief that the electric guitar was perfected half a century ago. Therefore, new design choices must be in conversation with the past. Success stories—such as Fender’s Custom Shop series—rely upon such historical nods. Design flops—such as Gibson’s “G-Force” automatic tuner—fail because they innovate beyond what buyers are willing to accept. So, is the electric guitar dead, as some commentators have proclaimed? I argue that the instrument is in a persistent state of rebirth as new models move forwards by looking backwards.

This chapter addresses the phenomenon of unauthorized minting of NFTs. Specifically, the chapter examines whether copyright law should allow minting of NFTs that is not authorized by the author of the underlying work. Despite the immense growth of the NFT market, the answer to this question has remained unclear under extant copyright laws around the world. To provide foundations for policy-making in this arena, the chapter seeks to form a normative stance towards the question of unauthorized minting. It does so by analyzing this question from the perspective of the key theories that underly copyright law, including the utilitarian theory, the labor theory, and the personality theory. The matter is also examined from the viewpoint of cultural diversity and distributive justice considerations, which provide important underpinning for copyright policy. All in all, the analysis offers a normative basis for the conclusion that the right to mint an NFT should be awarded to the author of the work that underlies the NFT.

Copyright law safeguards the exclusive rights of authors to their intellectual creations, emphasizing reproduction, public display, and adaptation. A fundamental distinction within this realm is between the intangible creative work and its tangible representations. Owning a tangible embodiment (like a painting) does not grant rights to reproduce the intellectual work it embodies. This demarcation is critical in the dynamic landscape of non-fungible tokens (NFTs), as acquiring an NFT does not automatically confer rights to the associated work. Instead, rights hinge on explicit contractual terms accompanying the NFT transaction. As the world of NFTs continues to unfold in all sorts of directions, delving deep into the intricacies of copyright law is important for artists, investors, and legal practitioners navigating the digital frontier. This chapter offers insights into the various copyright implications associated with NFTs.

Fueled in part by the wealth created from digital currencies, major art dealers such as Christie’s and Sotheby’s have embraced the sale of non-fungible tokens (NFTs) attached to unique digital works of art. NFTs, how they are related to the blockchain, and the evolution of the market for digital art is the subject of this chapter. Despite recent decreases in value, it appears that digital art can be added to the growing list of uses for blockchain technology, which is now becoming a part of modern life. This chapter proceeds in five sections. First, the overview of the evolutionary progression of blockchain technology in the form of NFTs. Second, a description of the emergence of the market for digital art. Third, an explanation and historical account of digital art and related recent issues. Fourth, a coverage of the abrupt decline in the market price for many NFTs. And last, a conclusion, which focuses on how the dramatic extension of blockchain and other digital technology to the world of art represents a new and exciting platform for creative expression. This chapter offers a valuable addition to the literature by providing a readable introduction and overview of what is now known about the likely impact of blockchain technology and NFTs to art. Additionally, this important development should have a significant impact on the future of innovation and property law.

On December 9, 1949, Huddie Ledbetter died in a New York hospital at the age of sixty. This chapter briefly looks at the life that he and Martha remade after their permanent return to New York in early 1936. It also looks at damage caused to Ledbetter’s career by the November 1936 publication of Negro Folk Songs as Sung by Lead Belly, as well as all of the Lomax-driven publicity over the previous two years. In 1939, an altercation at a party hosted by the Ledbetters leads an unsympathetic prosecutor and judge, citing false narratives about Lead Belly, to incarcerate him yet again, this time at Rikers. Released later in 1939, he and Martha continue to build a new life. Over time, Huddie Ledbetter builds a celebrated (but not remunerative) career with significant impact on the folk and labor movements as well as the ongoing evolution of American musical forms, including rock and roll.

New health care devices, including at-home diagnostic devices, are generating and aggregating data on patients’ health at a staggering pace. Yet much of that data is inaccessible because it is held in data siloes, most often cloud services controlled by device manufacturers. This proprietary siloing of patient data is problematic from ethical, economic, scientific, and broad public policy perspectives. This chapter frames these concerns and begins to sketch a regulatory framework for patient access to health care device data. As with other consumer data, breaking down siloes and securing patients’ access to their device data safeguards patients’ ownership interests, promotes patients’ ability to maintain and repair their equipment, and encourages interoperability and competition. Yet, data access is especially important for health data: It allows patients to make informed decisions about their own care, and it enables motivated citizen-scientists to study their own conditions and innovate in response to them. Patient access to device data may also be a first step toward building publicly accessible, responsibly governed datasets of so-called “real-world evidence” – which are increasingly essential to validate the accuracy and reliability of current diagnostic devices – and to invent and validate future devices, drugs, and other precision medicine interventions. These interests motivate the development of our proposed framework. Drawing from related experiences with clinical trial data and electronic health records, this chapter identifies the key considerations for a framework that protects key interests, such as privacy and data security, while unlocking the benefits of broader data sharing.

The protection of AI-assisted and AI-generated works causes problems for existing intellectual property law. However, it is doubtful whether the purposes of patent law would be served by granting patents for AI-generated inventions. Further, AI systems are unable to make the creative choices to bring their outputs into the realm of copyright protection. However, with AI-assisted outputs, there may still be sufficient creative choices by the programmer or user to bring the output into the domain of IP protection. AI fundamentally challenges the anthropocentric copyright regime. AI technologies will require us to rethink fundamental concepts within IP law, including, for instance, the standard of obviousness applied within patent law.

Wagner and money is a cantus firmus of his biography. Notoriously broke, he is often regarded as a ‘pump genius’. He always demanded financial generosity from anyone who wanted to call themselves his friend. His pre-March criticism of capitalism has its origins in his completely underdeveloped economic mind. In King Ludwig II of Bavaria, he gained his most powerful and significant patron from 1864 onwards. But contrary to the widespread prejudice, it was by no means excessive sums that the king spent on Wagner. Moreover, in times without copyright and regulated royalty payments, artists were always dependent on patrons and gainful employment. Under today’s legal conditions, Wagner would have been a millionaire.

This chapter, derived mainly from business-to-business serials such as The Bookseller[GK7], represents publishing in the 1860s as a collaborative enterprise comprising several interlocking systems. Basing its viewpoint in business-to-business texts shows that, unlike what is often suggested, it was not revolutionary. Instead, its use of technology and its distribution systems underwent a process of mainstreaming that intensified and refined extant methods of advertising, marketing, transport, wholesale, retail, and lending. Regulation was different, not because the various changes in the law offered anything new, but because details were modified in an attempt to improve them. Unlike many studies of publishing, this one engages with the regulation of labor relations, international distribution, and changing forms of business ownership as well as of the contents and ownership of texts through the laws of copyright, obscenity, and libel.

This chapter examines Puccini’s relationship with early film. The composer’s career coincided with nearly the first thirty years of the cinematic art form, and it was a form of technology with which Puccini had an ambivalent relationship. The chapter begins with an account of Puccini’s known thoughts about film and cinema going. There follows an extensive discussion of Puccini’s and Ricordi’s legal efforts to prevent the use of his music as film accompaniment, and of the difficulty in recouping royalties. By the 1920s, however, Ricordi was including a clause about film usage in opera contracts, including that for Turandot. From the 1930s, with the arrival of the ‘talkies’, commercial opportunities became apparent and the company pursued a more liberal course. The chapter also considers how Puccini’s operas were brought to the screen during his lifetime and shortly after – there was a particular vogue for Tosca films – and discusses the ways in which the composer’s works might be considered ‘cinematic’.

As stated earlier in this Part of the guide, it can be helpful to determine the defined standard, or benchmark, for the author’s perspective, action or statement, whether that is for a fictional character or plot, or in a non-fiction work (see Identifying the explanatory framework within a text). Once you have clarified that and the author’s intention, the next step is to consider whether there are any potential legal consequences.

As an editor, you should have a basic understanding of copyright, libel, defamation and related legislation, sufficient to be able to identify when a legal reading is needed. However, you should not be expected to provide that legal reading, regardless of how familiar you are with the legislation.

This chapter describes the dynamics of publishing novels in twentieth-century Australia through selected case studies and an analysis of changing industry, legal and cultural contexts. Publication in book form was more challenging for authors located in Australia due to the dominance of the British publishing industry and its control of territorial copyright for the Australasian market. Australian authors had few options but to seek the interest of overseas publishers, despite the local activity of Angus & Robertson, the NSW Bookstall Co. and other short-lived enterprises. In the early twentieth century, Joseph Furphy declared ‘Aut Australia aut nihil’ and published Such is Life (1903) with the Bulletin Newspaper Company. Miles Franklin’s My Brilliant Career (1901) took another route and was published by Blackwood in Edinburgh. Throughout the first half of the twentieth century, the publishing history of Australian novels was often seen as a tale of three cities: London, Melbourne and Sydney. But New York, Philadelphia and Boston also beckoned, creating a broader and much more complex literary marketplace. Changes in the international rights market and local publishing significantly increased the possibilities of publishing in multiple markets by the end of the twentieth century.

This chapter considers “uncreative” appropriations of comics archives. Uncreative comics go a step further in presenting the result of collecting as the product itself, further unsettling the lines between archiving, curating, and drawing. In fact, these comics tend to shift toward undrawing and the “uncreative” cartoonist often avoids making their own mark visible. Instead, the tactics that come to define these avant-garde works are détournement, erasure, collage, digital editing, reprinting, cutting-up, and crowdsourcing. This chapter looks at proto-experiments with uncreative practices and considers their expanded continuities in the era of digital remixing, particularly as they are facilitated by the online archives of comic books. It considers more particularly the multifaceted works of Ilan Manouach, who has adopted radical approaches to appropriation by privileging mechanical, automatized, or distributed forms of comics production.