Assertive denials of allegations that Antjie Krog is a plagiarist have come from two of Krog’s publishers, Stephen Johnson of Random House and Nèlleke de Jager of Kwela Books. The reactions follow something of a publishing tradition in South Africa.
When Pamela Jooste was accused of plagiarism in People Like Ourselves, Johnson wasted no time in going public with a spirited defence of his company’s author. She was, he said, a woman of professionalism and integrity, and, he added, he was looking forward to receiving her next manuscript.
There may be a beguiling sense among the public at large that loyalty is always “a good thing”, but there are three reasons why — in these kinds of instances — it isn’t.
First, we owe no loyalty to an author who uses another’s work without acknowledgement. Second, a publisher’s first loyalty lies to the readers who buy the books his or her company places on the market, along with the promise that they represent original work. Finally, the publishing industry depends for its existence on rigorous and impartial allegiance to the sanctity of copyright, which far outweighs any collegiate sense of loyalty between publisher and author.
Both Jooste and Darrel Bristow-Bovey are now confirmed plagiarists — and it must surely sit ill with their publishers that they were in effect complicit in the crime of selling their books on false pretences.
Johnson has now defended Krog against the charge that in Country of my Skull she lifted, unacknowledged, pieces of writing by Ted Hughes. He calls the article by Krog’s accuser, Stephen Watson, “an altogether unreasonable, venomous and academically shallow diatribe”. Academically shallow diatribe! Is Johnson qualified to offer such a judgement? More importantly, why enter the dispute in this way?
But Krog’s reputation is and will continue to be established in the unforgiving world of the academy, a world she presumably entered voluntarily and whose rules she well understands. And arbiters of that reputation will be her peers.
Johnson rejects Watson’s allegations “out of hand”. What evidence justifies so sweeping a conclusion? All he has is Krog’s denial, which hardly constitutes proof. As evidence, finger-prints will always trump personal assertion, no matter how heartfelt.
The prim claim to literary superiority that characterises Johnson’s statement (“… the man’s inability to grasp the nuances of Krog’s writing …”) would be a little more convincing were it accompanied by similarly high standards of commercial probity, but it is dampened by news from the bookselling industry that People Like Ourselves remains on sale.
De Jager expresses herself more thoughtfully, which is unsurprising, for the charges in respect of the stars say ‘tsau’, the book De Jager’s company has published, are far more complex than the allegations of plagiarism in respect of Hughes’s work.
But her professional loyalty is to her readers, and it is on their behalf she should act. Do those readers have a right to know whether Krog’s work — however valuable it is in itself — is building on the work of a predecessor?
Should she decide to pursue an action for libel against Watson and, in the event that Watson’s allegations of plagiarism are vindicated, will she retract and hand purchasers of Krog’s book their money back?
In each of the cases cited above, the publishers have made far reaching claims of loyalty exclusively on the basis of assurances given them by their authors. One might wonder, therefore — their trust being so large and their judgement so Olympian — why publishers always insist on an indemnity from their authors against any and all costs arising from any breach of copyright. Should any such breach cost the publishers anything whatsoever, it will be recovered from the offending authors to the last cent. Loyalty of this sort comes fairly cheap at the price.
Colin Bower was in the book-publishing business for 18 years. He was a director of the Juta Group, and vice chairperson of the Publishers’ Association of South Africa