The literary world is witnessing a new phenomenon: the booming business of mining dead authors’ estates. As streaming services and film studios compete for new content, they are turning to old books as a source of inspiration and adaptation. But what does this mean for the legacy and integrity of the authors and their works?
The theme of the business of mining literary estates is not new. Authors have long tried to control what happens to their works after they die – and mostly failed. From Lord Byron’s burned memoir to T.S. Eliot’s cat songs, many writers have seen their wishes ignored or violated by their heirs, executors, or publishers. However, the recent deal between Netflix and the Roald Dahl Story Company, which sold the writer’s catalogue for an estimated $700 million, has sparked a new wave of interest and activity in the field. According to The Economist, this deal has helped spur a gold rush to mine dead authors’ estates, as heirs and agents seek to monetize every shred of creative output2.
The demand for old books is driven by the voracious hunger for new content from streaming services and film studios, which are facing bidding wars for hot new titles. Shrewd producers have turned to more affordable options: novels written decades ago, which belong to an estate for 70 years after an author’s death. After that, the work enters the public domain, and estates can no longer profit from or control it. This creates a window of opportunity for exploitation and adaptation, as well as a sense of urgency for preservation and protection.
The benefits of mining literary estates are obvious: they can generate revenue, exposure, and recognition for the authors and their works, as well as for the heirs and the agents. They can also introduce new generations of readers and viewers to the classics, and create new forms of expression and interpretation. For example, The Queen’s Gambit, which is best known as a show on Netflix, was actually based on a novel published in 1983 by Walter Tevis, an American author who died in 1984. The show was a huge success, and boosted the sales and popularity of the book, as well as of Tevis’s other works.
However, the risks of mining literary estates are also evident: they can compromise the quality, authenticity, and originality of the authors and their works, as well as the rights and wishes of the heirs and the agents. They can also distort the meaning, context, and relevance of the classics, and create new problems of representation and appropriation. For example, Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey, a film released this year, in which Pooh and Piglet, A.A. Milne’s lovable, nearly 100-year-old characters, become bloodthirsty killers, was widely criticized as a travesty and a mockery of the author and his creation.
The challenge of mining literary estates is to balance the interests and values of all the parties involved: the authors, the heirs, the agents, the publishers, the producers, and the audiences. This requires a careful and respectful approach, as well as a clear and transparent agreement. Some estates have been more proactive and professional in managing their intellectual property, such as the heirs of Agatha Christie and Roald Dahl, who have set up companies to oversee their growing empires. Others have been more passive and amateurish, leaving the task to grand-nephews and harried former agents.
The future of mining literary estates is uncertain, but it is likely to continue and expand, as technology and globalization create new possibilities and challenges for the literary world. As the Economist notes, “copyright-protected works are ripe for technological transformation. They can be milked in various ways, including selling the rights for translations into new languages, permitting ‘continuation novels’ penned by living authors and making streaming series.” The question is: how will the literary world adapt and respond to this new reality?
