Google Unsettlement

The big news with writers around the world is the Google Book Settlement.  If you haven't heard, Google has the rights to digitize published or out-of-print books from before January 5th, 2009 and will make them available on the web.  Writers can claim ownership of their works by going to www.googlebooksettlement.com and setting up an account.  They will receive a one-off settlement of at least $60 per book and will then be poised to receive future profits from Google's efforts to sell their works as downloads or print-on-demand.  Just how much the writer will make off each download or p.o.d. is unclear.

The writer also has the option to opt out of the settlement when setting up their account on the web site.  Opting out won't necessarily stop Google from digitizing their books, but they then will have some kind of grounds on which to sue Google. Good luck with that.

Writers are being advised to stay in the settlement, the wisdom being a crappy deal is better than no deal at all.  But we don't know what the deal is yet so here's hoping...

When I set up my account on the web site I searched for my upcoming book, Fatted Calf Blues, that won't be available in stores until April 15.  Lo and behold, there it was on the web site.  Of course I won't be getting any $60 one-off deal, but who knows what the future holds.  I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it was on their site, since it has been listed on various book selling web sites such as Amazon and Chapters/Indigo since January.

A little more disconcerting for me was to find a poetry chapbook I self-published in the late 1970s called With My One Free Hand, which is catalogued in one of the Dalhousie University Libraries. How it got there is beyond me, considering I lived in Montreal when I published it.  Since Google has approached pretty much every library to digitize books, I shouldn't be surprised to see my modest first effort pop up on their settlement web site.  Nevertheless, I couldn't help but be reminded of the Borg sucking up every scintilla of human existence.  I know that sounds alarmist, but I'm a writer and prone to dramatization.

But here's the real thing that's bothering me.  I'm not particularly proud of that chapbook.  I was in my early twenties when I wrote those poems and was eager to see my name and my efforts in print.  While I can excuse youthful exuberance, frankly those poems embarrass me now.  In fact, they kind of embarrassed me then too.  I remember when I first got them back from the printer, I was at home having lunch when my father came into the kitchen.  A copy was sitting on the table and I pointed it out to him.  To my surprise he sat down and read the whole thing -- all ten pages of it! --  right then and there.  I watched, mortified, from behind my sandwich as he slowly turned the pages with a serious expression.  What felt like hours, but was more likely fifteen minutes or so, passed before he put it down and proclaimed in a sober voice: "I think I understand what you’re trying to say."  Then he got up and left.  I suppose it could have been worse.

I don't even own a copy of that chapbook.  Now that my first book of stories is about to be published, I keep hearing from friends who still have a copy of that chapbook.  I cringe a bit, but feel relieved that only a select few will be able to see my sophomoric scribbling.  At least I used to feel that relief until this whole Google thing.  Now everyone might be able to see the freaking thing.  Typical writer's vanity, you say?  Guilty as charged.  I remember reading that, before his death, Mordecai Richler was trying to buy up every copy of his first novel, he was that embarrassed by it.  No such luck here.  I don't know if anyone will ever want to see those poems or how much money Google will pay me for making them available to the public.  I'm pretty sure, though, that, no matter how much, it won't be near enough.