Plagiarism? (Margie Haack)

As I reviewed the galleys for The Exact Place last week, I felt a familiar urge rising: the need to be right – to be the responsible First Child (which I am) who keeps the rules so scrupulously that fathers and God are pleased. It is a paradox that at the same time I’m tempted to risk, and even enjoy, breaking the law when it suits me.

When I got home from Kosmos’ serene living room where I had been working all day, I went straight to the book shelf and pulled out a book of essays and short stories by David James Duncan, and found that, yes, I had been influenced by his description of sheep, but I hadn’t plagiarized his phrases or words. I had made his ideas my own. In fact, as I re-read the story, it triggered a memory. In an earlier draft I had stolen a phrase, but I had already deleted it because it belonged to him. That was a relief.

Flock of sheep in the Big Horn Mts. of Wyoming. July 2012.

 “Their seeing was not perception, it was radar – a cold, bloodless means of determining locations of meaningless objects. The eyes didn’t disappoint her: they appalled her. She rose to escape them and had gone a little distance when, for no reason, the entire flock started and bolted madly away. Dried balls of dung clattered on their hind legs and tails as they ran, and she laughed at the sound. That was the first day.” Her Idiots. David James Duncan.

Duncan wrote about a reality not everyone is familiar with, but his story is universal and that’s what I like about good story-telling – you find yourself in the most unlikely places sympathizing with distasteful characters. In this instance he was describing sheep – an animal so stupid on many days killing it would be too good for it. I know. Disproportionately hostile. On others days they give you a flash of insight, and suddenly you get why God, compares us, his own children, to sheep and himself as the Good Shepherd. Unable to think original thoughts, vulnerable, easily falling into holes, unable to rise without help, bouncing away from safety down paths that lead to suffering if not death. You become more kindly toward them because they are you.

We must, I think, often absorb others’ stories, ideas, voices and out they come in phrases, brush strokes, and designs almost unbeknown to us, but their roots lead to another and then another. We hardly know where they began. From the African tribe to the South Carolina plantations to the Mississippi Delta to Chicago’s Southside to music we now love? What art is not influenced or copied from creation itself or another’s interpretation of it? Not much. And, so I have copied, too, in my way. I’m pleased if authors such as David James Duncan weave and sway their way into my soul. I welcome them. Yet sometimes in the midst of our own creations we need to acknowledge the root. The Heidelberg Catechism says this about the 8^th Commandment: “…in God’s sight theft also includes cheating and swindling our neighbor by schemes made to appear legitimate…” Rather than wanting to keep this law because I’m people-pleaser or fear the brand of thief, I want to keep it out of love for my neighbor, respect for her words, her music, her paintings and to honor those who mentor my own gift.