The Houston Area Law Librarians is pleased to syndicate via
LAW-LIB "Publishers' Devices", a regular column of its *HALL
Newsletter*. The purpose of this syndication is to allow other
chapter newsletter editors the opportunity to download and
reprint the column in their own newsletters. Editors who do
reprint the column are asked to cite the source; for this column:
*HALL Newsletter*, Vol. 11, no.1 (Jan./Feb. 1994). Any questions
or comments regarding this column or method of syndication should
be directed to Barbara Szalkowski, Editor, *HALL Newsletter* at
72234.1472@compuserve.com or (713) 646-1724.
PUBLISHERS' DEVICES
By Fleeta Cunningham
Unsolicited Publications and the Law
Unsolicited Publications and Competitition
Unsolicited Publications and Librarians' Responses
Some Cats Think They Are Dogs
The Thrill of Retrieval
Unsolicited Publications and the Law
Dan Morales, Texas Attorney General, has sent a letter to Texas
librarians concerning a suit he has filed against a vendor. The
vendor sent unsolicited materials and then followed up with
invoices. From the Morales letter, it sounds as if the vendor
engaged in pretty aggressive collection tactics.
The letter speaks to the issue of unsolicited publications and
the response available to librarians very clearly. But there is
one passage that interests me above the rights and wrongs of the
basic issue. The letter states
Sending unsolicited materials is not only illegal, but
it is also an attempt to subvert the bidding process to
which most library purchasers and vendors must adhere.
Unsolicited Publications and Competition
I'm not sure that it is illegal to send unsolicited materials. I
think the attempt to collect payment for them is actually the
illegal action, but I was struck by that phrase "an attempt to
subvert the bidding process" and I wondered how far we could
carry that interpretation. Does the practice of sending a related
title not also undercut that bidding process? We know that there
are publishers with competing services that may also have related
titles. Those other providers may have a superior product or a
less expensive one. The competitive process may well be blunted
by mailing related titles simply because it is easier for us to
pay for a book in hand than to evaluate two or three possible
purchases. And what about the practice we've also seen lately
where a series has a title added within the series? We are
billed for that new title as if it were a separate purchase, but
does it fall under the category of `unsolicited'? I'm not sure
that the definition of `unsolicited' is all that clear to me. And
doesn't it avoid possible competition from rival vendors? I
wouldn't feel right about keeping a new title, say the new ALR
Quick Index, without paying for it, yet I know I didn't authorize
its purchase and I didn't look to see if there was something else
that served the purpose.
Then there are things like the national reporter system. We have
the new Federal Reporter 3rd on the shelf. I didn't specifically
order that. In fact, I don't recall that there was an
announcement that it was coming. But I certainly expect to pay
for it. Does it qualify as `unsolicited'?
Unsolicited Publications and Librarians' Responses
I hate unsolicited deliveries with a passion and I know I'm not
alone. I return as many as I can, usually with a sharp comment to
the vendor, but I do return them. I do not keep them. The federal
law states that the recipient is under no obligation to pay for
or return unordered books, but I'm not at all sure that I have a
perfect understanding of the scope of the term unordered and its
synonyms.
I am intrigued by the idea that such material is subverting the
normal competitive process. I can clearly see that happening, if
only as a by-product of taking the easiest way to fill a need. I
hadn't thought of that aspect before and I wonder if anyone has
investigated the impact such passive ordering has on the general
market. Would anybody like to take that on as a project?
**********************
Some Cats Think They Are Dogs
I'm permitted to share a house with two Siamese cats, James and
Victoria. I know they're Siamese cats. Dark ears, dark masks and
feet, bright blue eyes, and dispositions as royal as their names.
They, however, think they're Golden Retrievers. They may yet
convince me. As a training exercise, they present me with the
little round plastic sealers that hold the tops on plastic milk
bottles. Over a period of time they have taught me that if I toss
that little plastic ring (known in our house as a `Wild Blue
Thing') down the hall, they will hurl themselves after it and
return it to be tossed again. I've acknowledged that though their
papers may say Siamese, in their hearts they're retrievers.
It has dawned on me lately that librarians are much like Jamie
and Victoria. We have all the external conventions of our
profession, sometimes accompanied by optical enhancements, either
single, bi or tri lenses, and an accumulation of grey that slowly
replaces the flowing tresses of youth. I am convinced that these
external details are only camouflage.
The Thrill of Retrieval
We react exactly like my Siamese cats who want to be retrievers.
We simply have to find answers to questions. In my case, an
unresolved invoice problem is my Wild Blue Thing. I know some
librarians who have to solve bibliographic puzzles or serials
anomalies. It's something in the blood or breeding or training.
An unresolved question hangs over us and demands attention. I
recall one librarian who told me that she became a law librarian
because she couldn't stand not knowing what all those Latin
abbreviations meant. I was hooked when I discovered that the
person who knew where to find an answer didn't have to be the
person who used the answer.
I don't know how it has happened that we who love answering
questions found our way into this field. Perhaps we invented a
profession that enabled us to spend our time doing that which
also intrigues us. How else could I get paid to heckle vendors
and investigate invoice oddities?
The need to know may be born with us as simple curiosity, but it
grows as we gain expertise in satisfying our interests; by the
time we reach graduate school, it has become an addiction that is
only reinforced by the training we absorb.
Like those confused Siamese cats, someone throws us a Wild Blue
Thing and we respond. We go after the answer and never think "Why
on earth does a partner need to know the gestation period of a
French poodle?" or "Why would a law professor be interested in
the agricultural aspects of Sardinia?" We race off down the
aisles of information barking out leads and pointing to sources
to track down that elusive answer.
Maybe we are just trained that way, like bloodhounds taught to
follow a scent. Maybe we like the excitement of the chase.
Whatever it is, as a profession, we share it with a couple of
garrulous Siamese. We may wear our grey tweed suits as openly as
they do their sleek fawn coats, but in our hearts and minds, we
too are really Golden Retrievers, off after another kind of Wild
Blue Thing.
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