Look at the story “corrie” from the Oct. 11, 2010 issue. I think this story is clearly copied.

Having read both stories, my feeling is that Okparanta’s isn’t “copying,” rather, it’s a story in conversation with the other. The stories share a similar structure, but their features are different. I don’t see a problem.

If Okparanta was trying to engage “in conversation”with “Corrie” (and I’m not sure what that means), or if “Benji” is some sort of tribute to “Corrie,” perhaps Okparanta should have disclosed that during the Q&A on the New Yorker website.

I can’t think of an artistic purpose served by what Okparanta has done.

Elkay, thanks for explaining what you meant by “in conversation with one another.” I think of a conversation as involving two willing participants, so unless Munro had consented to Okparanta’s emulation of “Corrie,” it wouldn’t have occurred to me to view the two stories as “in conversation.”

It strikes me as a big understatement to say that the stories “share a similar structure.” “Benji” is made up of characters, scenes, and a plot derived directly from Munro’s story. For example, look at the condom scene, or the scene where the young wealthy character jokingly suggests killing the paramour’s spouse. Or consider the death of the wealthy character’s parent. And the scheme that forms the crux of the plot.

One needn’t cut and paste every preposition and conjunction in order to plagiarize. That said, I hope readers and media critics pay attention to this and express their own views about whether what Okparanta has done is defensible, reprehensible, or something in between.

I’m really trying to figure out a response to this question. What if this writer had never read Munro’s story? Would that make a difference? Does a literary detective need to be engaged and find out what she has read or hasn’t before calling it a rip-off? Munro’s story, as I recall, lacks a social dimension so that’s one thing that Okparanta adds. Very interesting questions.

I think to be in conversation with another specific piece, you have to address that in your own piece. For example, last weeks piece by Murakami was clearly ‘in conversation’ with Kafka’s Metamorphosis. But still, it explored another aspect of what Kafka had started. I don’t feel that this piece does enough exploration in an area not explored by Munro’s piece.

I had a sense, too, of having read this before, and the name “Corrie” popped into my head as well, having read it not in the New Yorker but the 2012 O. Henry Prize edition. Baffling.

Well – my apologies for typos in that last post – an apostrophe, misspellings, and haste.

Ethan, Roger, and Mike are right: it appears that Chinelo Okparanta’s “Benji” is a close copy of Alice Munro’s “Corrie”. Although the sexes of the characters have been flipped and the setting has been moved to Nigeria, Okparanta’s story is first and foremost a copy of the Munro story told in a similarly distanced and flat style. Both have a shift in point of view part way through Both have a similar revealed twist, and both may have an unrevealed twist.. They are the same story.

The body of this post is boring: I am simply making notes that show the similarities. There are many more than I have listed. Ethan, Mike and Roger all said the same thing far more concisely.

Corrie and Benji are both unmarried children living at home with a wealthy, overbearing parent. Neither of them appears to work; both of them appear to be tied to the apron strings of their parent. Both are perceived by their parents as damaged goods, Corrie because she is lame from polio and Benji because he is unattractive and lacking in direction. In both stories, a dinner guest arrives who has a connection to the parent. Both of these dinner guests have a church connection: Howard is a church architect that Corrie’s father has hired, and Alare is someone Benji’s mother has met at church. Howard and Alare both reveal at dinner that they are married. Both Corrie and Benji appear to their guests to be weak and spoiled. Both Corrie and Benji reveal foreign travel plans to the guests who came to dinner.

Corrie and Benji both send post cards to Howard and Benji, respectively, thus creating an up-tick in the slight connection made at dinner. Both elderly parents suffer sudden deaths, Corrie’s from a stroke and Benji’s from a heart attack. Both Howard and Alare make themselves very available to help Corrie and Benji during their parent’s convalescence; both couples manage to have sex, despite the presence in the house of a sick elder, and despite the fact that Corrie and Benji are both almost completely inexperienced. Both elder parents die. Both Howard and Alare begin extorting money from their marks quite soon after the inheritances would have been complete. Howard says that the maid at a dinner party was Sadie, Corrie’s former house maid. She wrote to him demanding hush money or she would tell his wife. Corrie agrees to pay the money twice a year in cash to Howard to deposit in Sadie’s deposit box. Benji ends up paying Alare money for her “sick husband”.

The stories have a key sentence in common. Corrie remarks to Howard, “I guess killing her is not an option?” And Benji says, “I guess letting him go is t an option?”

The plot similarities continue with boring repetition. Corrie and Benji both develop some outside interests – Corrie in her museum and in the library, Benji in the convenience store and in painting. Neither one amounts to much. Both have their startling moment when they realize that Howard and Alare have been conning them. Both realize they’ve been conned in an overnight realization. Both decide to never let on that they know.

Both Benji and Corrie share this in common: that they never want to actually live married life with a spouse, having been nearly consumed by their overwhelming parents. So both stories convey the same basic moral: it doesn’t work when you try to have your children for dinner – something that was alluded to in both opening scenes.

There can be no doubt that Chinelo Okparanta’s story is based on Alice Munro’s. But Okparanta says in her Pageturner interview that that’s okay – that some stories are universal.

Regardless of contemporary principles at work in the art world, it puzzles me that the New Yorker published this story. But that requires a separate post and a little more time.

Yes, you’re right to caution that, Roger. Below is the interchange I had in mind.

On November 4, in Chinelo Okparanta’s Page-Turner interview with Willing Davidson:

Davidson: “When you and I were talking over some edits, you were clear that you didn’t want to make too many obvious or explicit references to the setting—why is that?”

Okparanta: “I didn’t want to make too many explicit references because I thought that there were already enough details in the story to infer the country. I think the city is even mentioned at one point. Also, I think “Benji” is a pretty universal story. To an extent, the setting is irrelevant, because at the core, it’s the kind of story that could take place anywhere.”

Betsy and Roger: in that context, it seems that she is saying that the story is universal in the sense that it can take place anywhere in the world. And I agree with this; the best stories appeal to our core humanity. But I don’t think it’s universal in that it is “everyone’s story,” so to speak. I think the ending works in “Corrie” because it works for specifically for Corrie. The universality comes in the sense of loneliness, but the story is very specific in the way that this loneliness is articulated. For 99% of characters and people, finding out that their lover was making them pay for company would be disastrous, and end in some sort of confrontation. Romeo and Juliet, for example, is “everyone’s story.” When does a romance between two young lovers work perfectly? And certainly there are countless stories in which they lovers are “star crossed” in the same way Romeo and Juliet; for example, Tristan and Isolde. But all of those stories add something new, do something differently. Even though everyone can relate to their story, there is something unique about it that works for only their characters.

Most importantly, no matter how you use the phrase “universal story,” it never gives an artist the right to remake, completely, another artist’s work. At the very least, Okparanta should have mentioned Munro in the interview. It is not like “Corrie” is so famous that people know it is being “referenced,” and the fact that it is not mentioned seems like she is trying to pass the story off as her own (and I think TNY would not publish it if they realized it was so similar to a story they had already published). What’s more, in cases of “universal stories,” new versions always have a new angle or another way in. Like Pocahontas and Avatar, or any of the retellings of Shakespeare’s plays. They add a new dimension, and certainly do not copy line by line. If the themes are reused, fine, but the details must be unique.

Okparanta’s treatment of Munro’s story reminds me of the way in which directors treat Shakespeare – giving any of the plays a different setting is a time honored strategy which gives it new life and gives the audience the pleasure of revisiting something they already know. Audiences actually expect that Shakespeare or an opera should have a creative staging. But we always know who wrote the piece.

In the same way, our sense of the movies is that if the film rights of the story were purchased, and then the director had a version created that took place in Nigeria, it would surprise us not at all. We expect such close re-creation in the movies. It would be like the owners of “In Treatment” changing the setting from Israel to the United States and thus also changing the identity of the main characters. But the credits always acknowledge the original.

As remarked before, this explicit re-use of material appears to be common in contemporary photography, painting, sculpture and jazz, as well as some contemporary music. It is clear that in poetry, Lucy Brock-Broido used a “re-use” technique (and philosophy) in “Heat” published recently in The New Yorker. I am unfamiliar, however, with re-use done in this manner (and unacknowledged) in the short story.

As an untutored reader, I feel some of the frustration of those who feel tricked or tested by the magazine, as in being given a litmus test for legitimacy as a reader. On the other hand, the magazine may feel that it offers literature to its readers with respect – that it leaves up to the reader to discover on which level they will approach any given piece. I would still prefer to be given the footnote: more information from a translator, for instance, or more background about appropriation, if appropriation art is the realm of the story or poem.

As an observor of the making of art, appropriation art feels more like Czerny than Beethoven. It feels like a very challenging practice exercise.

I am not familiar with a story that has ever done what Okparanta’s has done. It would be interesting to hear if anyone knows of something similar.

Finally, because Okparanta is Nigerian, and because this is Nobel season, and because the appropriated/honored (depending on your point of view) story is that of Nobel winner Munro, I cannot help but be reminded that Chinua Achebe, whose achievements seem towering, never won the Nobel. Is the magazine, and/or Munro, thus making that connection for us?

It is as if the placement of this story is itself a piece of performance art – the intention being to provoke reactions of all sorts.

Read the other two as well. Similar beginning, but different stories. In the Flannery O’Connor story, a bible salesman comes to the house of a widow and her daughter, makes a crude pass at the daughter and is rebuffed. In The Okparanta tale, a Jehovah’s witness comes to the house of a widow and her daughter, with bibles and magazines, and this time he ends up marrying the daughter. Then the Okparanta story continues for many more years with one more twist.

I feel all three stories are re-imagined in some way. The Chimamanda story has been re-imagined in a different decade (2010s instead of 1960s), with a same sex relationship and a different visa result. The Flannery O’Connor has been re-imagined in a different time and place, with the bible salesman marrying the daughter. The Alice Munro has been re-imagined in Nigeria with a gender switch.

All of them feel like pastiche/parody writing exercises one maybe given in writing workshops – good for a term paper, but not good for publication.

There is also a big error in the Okparanta story – a factual error, apart from the points of view problems etc.

In Munro’s story, an initial conversation between Corrie, her father and Howard referred to Tommy Douglas a premier of Saskatchewan. Douglas was premier for a long time, 1944-1961, so the initial conversation could have happened anytime in that period, still leaving enough time for the remaining story, the long blackmail, which in Munro’s case was at least 10-15 years or so.

In Okparanta’s story, the initial conversation between Benji, his mother and Alare refers to President Umaru Yar’Adua. He became President of Nigeria in May 2007 and died in 2010 after a long illness. The story refers to him being very sick, so one can almost precisely date this to 2009.

So, 2009-2013 is not a long time for blackmail. Unless of course, the story is set in the future, maybe in 2023! A future in which Alice Munro can be conveniently forgotten.

Willing Davidson and The New Yorker have really done a terrible job of editing the story, if at all it was edited at all.

Apologies to Mike for focusing on minor details- I do think “Benji” is a blatant copy of “Corrie”. The New Yorker had no business publishing it. Grateful to Mookse for discovering it.

In response to Betsy’s question as to whether anyone has done anything similar to Okparanta – I recall ndrani Aikath Gyaltsen, whose second novel, “Crane’s Morning (1993)” was plagiarised from “The Rosemary Tree” (1956) by Elizabeth Goudge. The character names were changed to Indian names and the setting was changed to an Indian village. After the fraud was uncovered and the book recalled, Aikath Gyaltsen was depressed for a few years and then committed suicide in 1994.

I learnt something then – “Aesthetic Affirmative Action”. I believe that is at work in Okparanta’s case as well.

http://www.sawnet.org/news/aikath_gyaltsen.html

I think most of the posts here are far too kind. This is not like jazz players doing their own version of a song. It is not like a Warhol redo of a soup can that everyone recognizes; or many other variations on a theme that can occur in original art.
The first insult for me was the suddeness and matter-of-factness of how the “new” lover was pleasing in bed. “She found that Benji’s small size somehow pleased her in bed.” This after a paragraph about her tending for the ailing mother. “He hadn’t been sure how he would react to the foot,in bed.” This is mentioned after he has decided to help about the house doing man chores.(“Corrie.”)
But the inexcusable, gobsmacking repetition of “i guess letting him go is not an option.”( “Benji”)” I guess killing her is not an option.” (“Corrie”) took my breath away.
Betsy’s earlier post list many of the similarities, and unfortunately there are more than she lists.
This is not acceptable from The New Yorker, or the writer.

I cannot imagine The New Yorker not addressing this. They have always prided themselves in professionalism — fact checking, editing, selection, etc. But at the moment, they probably need time to get organized; and no
one individual would want to get “voted off the island.”

With this decrease in quality rates should go down. HA HA

Yes, exactly. The New Yorker probably is getting lawyered up because, depending on what they say and how they say it, they could provoke legal action by Okparata. And their PR folks will probably help them tread lightly so as not to be depicted as picking on a writer from a developing country.

As far as we readers are concerned, we should receive an additional story in an upcoming issue!

Someone responded on twitter – Okparanta’s fellow “Literature fellow” at Colgate Univ. She said that if there was plagiarism, The New Yorker would be the first to know about it, and since they have said nothing, it is proof that there is no plagiarism. That is a logical conclusion to draw from The New Yorker’s silence.

I tried posting on Okparanta’s facebook page, but it was deleted within seconds.

Should we be the ones lawyering up? I am reconsidering my intemperate tweets to various writers associated with The New Yorker.

This is a puzzling situation. We may never know much of anything about why the New Yorker selected this story or what their own concerns or interests in the story or the author were. I am glad Trevor, as the blogger of this blog, chose to write to The New Yorker about our conversation. That works for me. His is always a measured point of view. But they may not reply. Or, their official response may be just as puzzling as the story they chose to publish.

Whatever the problem with the story, they may have workable ways to settle it quietly among themselves. As for unworkable ways of settling such an issue, some of the famous legal art appropriation wrangles have taken years to resolve, and at least one of them decided first in favor of the petitioner and then several years later in favor of his opposite. It will be a while.

While waiting, I look forward to turning back to Alice Munro. Trevor and
I are now at work on “Lives of Girls and Women”. I just spent a week thinking about the title story. “Baptizing” is my next empty Word document waiting to be inscribed. These are great stories, well worth the time. Munro once said (somewhere) that she could spend several months on one story. Perhaps she was hoping that a reader or two would spend more than a half hour reading it. So that’s my work – finish “Lives of Girls and Women” and not stint the time.

I can’t wait to get to the Epilogue. In the Epilogue of “Lives of Girls and Women”, Munro talks about what Del (her alter ego) thinks the art of writing stories ought to be.

I suggest giving the money to a journal that cares more about its readers and about what it publishes. There are plenty..

Also, just being curious. Is Elkay a regular commenter here? Okparante is called nel by her friends, and nl seems very similar to lk. Elkay’s comment is also very similar to the update posted by the New Yorker. If that is the case, it may be a first for this blog.

Maybe it’s her agent ….

Trevor, I don’t live in the U.S., but if I did, I would pick up a different literary journal every month. There are so many good ones. The New Yorker I’ve always read more for the articles and the general content, not so much the short stories. For those I go to the Paris Review, McSweeney’s, Zoetrope, Southern Review, and several others. I find that they’re more willing to take risks. With short stories in the New Yorker, I pretty much know what I’m getting every week. I’m rarely surprised..

The New Yorker definitely has lawyers at work. The first thing they have done is “Audi Alteram Partem” (Hear the other party), by giving Okparanta a chance to come clean with the additional question in Q&A. She decided not to take it. Now, The New Yorker is free to throw her under the bus.

As Betsy says, the extreme way in which The New Yorker first overlooked the interests of Alice Munro, and now those of Okparanta is very troubling. The cost of being a part of a large portfolio of magazines probably means that the famed fact checking/editing department is probably a thing of the past, and astute editors have been replaced with trust fund kids like the editor of this piece, who dont need a job and dont seem to do one anyway.

Mike – thanks for suggesting alternatives. I am a reader for the last 12 years, but I think it is time to move.

We owe Ethan a shout-out. His great memory, coupled with a great literary sense, told him something was fishy about “Benji”, and he almost immediately recalled “Corrie” and identified its likely use as a source. The wording in the New Yorker addendum says that “several” readers were troubled by the similarities between the two stories. The wording – “several” – (not very many) – indicates Mookse and Gripes as the source of their discomfort.

It is Ethan’s sharp eye that made the call. They should have hired you, Ethan. You would have saved them. And the authoress.

I read “Benji” today, and I have to echo most the sentiments expressed here. Okparanta has very clearly taken the plot, tone and intention of Munro’s “Corrie” and has essentially re-written the story. What I find particularly egregious is that people who read this without any knowledge of the Munro story will think it is an original work. There is no marker or indication that it is an appropriation.

A similar thing happened with a Lorrie Moore story that was published in the New Yorker a while ago, “Referential”. That was basically a re-telling of Nabokov’s famous short story “Signs and Symbols”. However, that was a case of an established author working with a very well-known story. She explicitly pointed to her intention with the title, and in the Q&A on TNY website, Nabokov is the first thing mentioned (and, even then, if you check out that page, there are a number of disapproving comments). I completely fail to see the point of re-telling a story that was only published three years ago in the same magazine, and that a lot less people would easily recognize. Surely, Okparanta could have dealt with these class/government issues in another (original) context?

I also find TNY’s response to this (with the Q&A addendum) shockingly disingenuous. It doesn’t really address any of the complaints that have been raised here. And it suggests that those who have concerns don’t understand the aspect of creation that involves the influence or appropriation of other people’s work. I think we do , and I think this not a credible example of that. (I, for instance, didn’t have a problem with the Lorrie Moore story, even if I didn’t think it was her best.) In most universities, if a student handed in a paper doing what Okparanta has done, without openly citing a main source, that student would surely be accused of plagiarism. At the very least, the “Corrie” connection should have been immediately revealed in the Q&A. But, I agree, this shouldn’t have been published at all. (For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a particularly good story either.)

I feel, as a big Munro admirer (I wonder what she would say about this?) that this is quite unacceptable. But I also hear Trevor’s compassionate reminder that, for all our outrage and indignation, a writer’s reputation is at stake. I’m not trying to pile on here. Perhaps it’s for the best that we leave it at that. I do hope that some of the editors or maybe even the writer comes across these comments, and takes them into consideration. This is very disappointing from TNY.

You might also take a closer look at Design http://iowareview.uiowa.edu/page/volume_43_number_1_spring_2013 and and this prior and amazing T.A.R.P… http://www.all-story.com/issues.cgi?action=show_story&story_id=468

Like other readers expressing their views here, I pick up new fiction hoping to see original work. And when I look at “Benji”, that is exactly what I see. The story is in my mind a great “case of an established author working with a very well-known story [who] explicitly pointed to her intention with the title, and in the Q&A”. Yes, Alice Munroe is a very well-known, established author and to address the concern I’m seeing here, it is extraordinarily unlikely that the New Yorker would publish an intelligent and original response to one of her stories, like Chinelo Okparanta’s “Benji”, by accident, and then go on to remain unaware of this intentional (and, in my opinion, productive) relationship between the two stories even after Okparanta openly pointed it out to everyone.

Okparanta was very clear in the text quoted above that “Benji” was modeled after and in response to the similarly titled and themed “Corrie”; she even says that: “After reading ‘Corrie,’ I wanted ‘Benji’ to work as an homage to Munro regarding the parallel plot/structure points, but with different sociocultural contexts, in a way that gave rise to, I hope, a wholly new story.” Seems like a good goal to me.

As a reader who shares the dedication to originality that many of the other commenters here express, and as a person who is familiar and comfortable with the common practice of writers responding to each other’s work (it would be hard to count the number of published poems that have resonated with and responded to writings of Stevens, Williams, and Berryman, for example), I think it’s exciting that the New Yorker is engaged enough in its fiction editing to publish these two stories within a few years of one another, the first by a longer-established author, and the second by an emerging author who brings in cultural themes and ideas that are totally different and that expand the literary conversation as well as creating a new work.

I guess it’s also a reflection of how quickly culture and information move nowadays that such a conversation, and one that spans cultures, is possible, right? Thanks to everyone for getting in here and thinking about this stuff, I’m glad so many other people care about contemporary writing and its quality.

-Sophie K., New York City

Sophie,

The problem is that when The New Yorker, updated the Q&A, they kept the original date of the first Q&A – November 4th, giving everyone the impression that the reference to Corrie was there right from the day the story was published. They also deleted a comment by Ethan, a reader of this blog, who discovered the connection to the specific Munro story and called it out first.

This was dishonest of the New Yorker, but we have been disappointed by them in many ways this past week. Trevor is right in saying that the reference to Munro and Corrie was added after many complaints from several readers.

I was reminded of a poem by Robert Graves today morning. In response to a complaint from a newspaper that he used outdated words like Tilth, and withheld 100% approbation from modern writers, he wrote:

Gone are the drab monosyllabic days,
When “agricultural labour” still was tilth;
And “100% approbation”, praise;
And “pornographic modernism”, filth;
Yet still I stand by tilth and filth and praise.

I am sure the author and The New Yorker have used complicated words and concepts to justify this episode, which for me are adequately captured by the monosyllabic word – Theft.

I can only suggest in advance to any apologists for Okparanta that I mean nothing personal in my following opinion of the matter.

The level of plagiarism we’re talking about is appalling: there is room for only the flimsiest of defences there, but why bother, really? It’s pretty outrageous. The issue is surely how much damage-limitation the magazine is prepared to pursue, as it surely should by apologising to Alice Munro, publicly (there should be no readers anywhere unaware of the level of theft involved) and explaining how the whole thing came to pass within such a small timeframe. It seems shoddy editorially from such an otherwise great publication. I’m not sure there’s any point attacking the author of Benji: their pitiful conduct speaks volumes.

Ethan – how long was your comment up on The New Yorker web-site? When did you put it up and when was it taken down? what did it say?

I think as a writer wanting to make it into TNY, I’d converse with one of George Saunders’ stories next..

The point of sharing the revisions to “Corrie”‘s ending is to confirm that the story’s copyright is owned by Alice Munro. One of the comments mentioned that The New Yorker may own the copyright.

Munro does not use social media. But her friend and fellow Canadian author, Margaret Atwood is on twitter. One way to reach Munro will be to reach Atwood. I thought of doing it, but feel it is Trevor’s call.

Here is Munro celebrating her Nobel with Atwood:

https://twitter.com/MargaretAtwood/status/394587944683458560

Two-and-a-half big points, and a note to Betsy.

First of all, the interview contradicts itself. In the original interview, Okparanta herself said: “I didn’t want to make too many explicit references because I thought that there were already enough details in the story to infer the country. I think the city is even mentioned at one point. Also, I think “Benji” is a pretty universal story. To an extent, the setting is irrelevant, because at the core, it’s the kind of story that could take place anywhere.” Read the last two sentences again! Then, the addendum to the interview is all about Nigeria. Nigeria this, Nigeria that. The story is unique because of its Nigerian aspect. I think she got it completely right in the original comment: the setting does not matter, the story could have taken place anywhere. The issue of wealth disparity and religion are hardly unique to Nigeria, and what’s more, they were fully present in “Corrie.” Also, the additional answer is very defensive. Or at least, it seems to be directly answering this blog. The question itself is not an attack, but the answer —insists on its uniqueness, rather than its inspiration from Munro or its conversation with her.—

Second, on how to proceed (and I think we should!) we have to ask ourselves where our responsibilities lie. If we think Alice needs to be notified, we should notify her. If we think Okparanta, The New Yorker, or both need to be “brought to justice,” or at least, “face public trial,” we should do that. Or, is our responsibility more to the public than to the New Yorker, such that we attempt to inform the public of what a dirty magazine the New Yorker is for colluding with Okparanta (this is different than the last option, as we assume their guilt and our purpose is different)? Do we have a responsibility to the public to tell them they were tricked? That is, even if Alice doesn’t care that she wasn’t given much credit for the story, does the public deserve to know they did not read a fully original story? The underlying point of this, to me, is that the integrity of the Magazine is at stake. A major author has just been (clearly, in my opinion) copied in the same magazine that published her! If this continues, the reputation of the New Yorker will fall, and I think the whole writing world will suffer. The writing and reading community really looks up to the New Yorker, myself and Okparanta included. there are so many major authors who publish exclusively at the magazine, and it has by far and away the widest readership of any literary publication. With their influence comes their responsibility with maintaining the art form, and allowing such clear “Theft” really brings into question the quality of the magazine. While I would love for their reputation to be untarnished, it seems so wrong for them not to acknowledge what happened with this story and, as others have said, sets a bad precedent, not only for the magazine, but for all of literature. I mean really, I would have been embarrassed to submit such a directly copied story even to my professor.
And as someone who wants to pursue an MFA, should I simply pick a New Yorker story written in 1963 and rewrite it for my application sample?

Half point: I think Okparanta was unaware that Alice was going to receive the Nobel Prize (thus increasing her readership and Okparanta’s chances of getting discoverd) because of the amount of time it would have taken to write the story, then submit it and pass it through TNY’s editing process. In fact, I would not be surprised if she threw up when Alice won the prize.

——–

Betsy, thank you so much for your kind words. It does seem that I was the first to find this, but I don’t think the issue was in wide circulation at the time, so probably many others would have noticed, regardless. I had dreamed of the New Yorker saying my name, even in a “Letter to the Editor.” Instead, they deleted my comment… I believe I put it up the day after I read it. So it was up Friday, and stayed at least until Monday night, which is the last time I checked. I presume they deleted it when they updated the interview. It said, roughly: “Has anyone else read Corrie? It was published in this magazine Oct. 11 2010. It is remarkably similar.” It may have continued (I don’t remember) “to be clear, I think Benji is copied.” Betsy, perhaps you can keep me in mind when you start your own magazine, and publish my work or hire me :) I had thought of making my own blog, and even made a post post about this – but now that I’ve started a job (First job ever, on Monday) I don’t see myself having the time… I need to spend time on my own writing-I hope to pursue an MFA. I will certainly comment on here more, though; I’ve read quite a few blog posts but kept quiet. I appreciate everyone else’s comments as well. Even though I am in strong agreement with almost everyone, you have been posing new angles and points.

one LAST post. In regards to those who are concerned about the author’s well-being, I think this is certainly valid. I have personally been affected by suicide, in more ways than one, and recently. Also, I would certainly appreciate, if I were in the author’s position, a quiet reprimand as opposed to a career-ending battle. I just wonder two things: is the issue too large to keep quiet? (it very well might not be) And can we refrain from punishing people because we are concerned about them? It’s not like we even have reason to believe she is suicidal. Perhaps I should have threatened suicide to the MFA programs that rejected me…. My statement of purpose could have read: “Let me in! Or else!”

I do think this is a public issue, and should be handled publicly, though I think my last post should suffice as to my opinion.

I remember Ethan’s comment ended with “To be clear, I think Benji is copied”. The comment was deleted – around 815am in New York on November 12, when the updated Q&A was posted.

Jonathan Shainin, the recently hired online editor of TNY, bears responsibility for not updating the date on the updated Q&A and for deleting Ethan’s comment.

—————————

Professor Charles May posted a response on this issue: “I do feel, however, that “explanation” above is, as my father used to say, “a day late and a dollar short.” Here is his post:

http://may-on-the-short-story.blogspot.com/2013/11/okparantas-benjii-and-munros-corrie.html

Paul – thank you for your careful commentary and your several worthwhile points. Your training as an analyst is reflected in your calm look at things from another point of view. I hope my reply strikes you as being in the same spirit.

Your comment that you enjoyed Okparanta’s story very much – perhaps more than Munro’s “Corrie” – is important and thought provoking.

We have not had time here to investigate Okparanta’s obvious talent. .

If Okparanta had made “fair use” of Munro’s story, the comparison of the two stories would have been a fascinating exercise. Under the circumstances, our attention is diverted.

(I would direct readers to Wikipedia’s extensive article on the topic of “Fair Use”, which describes under what conditions copyrighted material may be used without permission.

Another serious issue is the degree to which the extremely prestigious University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop addresses its students in the ethics relevant to writers and “Fair Use”.

Many University departments run courses in the ethics. In Massachusetts, public school teachers are given training in ethics by their systems. Many hospitals now have a trained “Ethicist” in their employ.

“Appropriation Art” is in the air in some circles, but courses in ethics are in the air in others. The fair use of one’s power and position being a naturally difficult challenge, the study of ethics can provide a useful rein on ego.)

Nevertheless, Paul, that you found meaning and enjoyment in Okparanta’s story is both significant and poignant. I am glad you took the time to write on Okparanta’s behalf.

I think it’s all the more lacking in self-perception on Okparanta’s part that she has chosen to terminally besmirch herself in stealing someone else’s story and passing it off (and backtracking later) as her own work. It’s tragic and idiotic: doubtless Okparanta has talent and I hope she writes something brilliant and completely original in future. As for now she has a few tawdry ideas that she could do with dispensing with.

As for the New Yorker, I daresay Jonathan Shainin might be perusing the job ads whilst hiding in a cupboard somewhere.

I got a totally different perspective on this from a friend. I am trying to paraphrase what he said for this forum.

“So what? (If she copied). This is the year Chinua Achebe died. He was so great a writer, far greater than anyone who has been awarded the Nobel in the last 20 years. He never got the Nobel. The Nobel committee should have given it to him or decided not to award anyone the 2013 Nobel for Literature, as they decided in 1948 not to award the Nobel for Peace, because the most deserving candidate, Gandhi died. Why give it to some short story writer? It is clever of a Nigerian girl to pull a fast one on Munro and on the New Yorker one month after she was awarded the Nobel”.

This is definitely not my view – I love both Achebe and Munro – but it is a view opposing the general consensus in this blog, so I just thought I will put it out there.

There were calls for a Posthumous Nobel for Achebe – this news item speaks of it:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/may/20/chinua-achebe-nobel-prize-wole-soyinka

That’s a most unique alternate perspective, avataram! This is all just fine because Achebe didn’t win the Nobel Prize? Ha ha ha!

Betsy, I agree with you – Prof May takes both Okparanta and the New Yorker to task for the copying and the coverup in such a forthright manner that both Okparanta & The New Yorker will find it difficult to bury this issue and move on.

He seems to give the benefit of doubt (what I called a Free Pass) to Okparanta only in saying that only she knows if she copied intentionally. He left the possibility for her to use the unintended plagiarism defense. Something on the lines of “I loved the Munro story so much, I must have internalized it without knowing it and when I wrote my story, somehow it ended up being a copy of Munro’s”. All I tried to say (and sorry it came out very wrong), was that Ethan’s post is so thorough that it takes away the possibility of her using even this defense.

Not sure we’re going to hear more on this from TNY or Okparanta..

We may not hear more from TNY, but Okparanta is busy selling this “Conversation between Benji & Corrie” idea. On 16th, she is in Brooklyn attending Afrilit 2013. On 18th she is in St Louis at a River Styx Literary meet, probably selling this idea again. We may have to read more interviews with NoViolet Bulawayos.

I agree, Roger. I also think she’s harmed all those young writers who aren’t established yet with a dozen New Yorker stories to their name. You’re not going to see anyone’s first TNY story for a long while now, simply because they’re not going to run that risk again. They can’t afford a second Okparanta.

Paul – Today you can buy “vintage” Milton Bradley Lotto games on Ebay dated 1932, 1936 and 1939, not to mention one from 1900.

Many good points in Betsy’s entry. I was not aware this was a pattern of sorts in TNY. I must say, that troubles me even more. There is also the question of measure, of how much you can take from a piece for it to feel like a homage, and in Benji, it’s not even close. I also find the term appropriation art deeply misleading, since it feels more like a hijacking than anything else. I think we, as the readers, need to send a firm message that this is not what we want.

I should also add that I don’t think it’s necessarily “appropriation” to write a fiction piece that is inspired by actual events.

For example, Joyce Carol Oates’s haunting “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” was inspired by real-life murders. I assume Oates read news articles about those cases, but does that mean she appropriated them? I wouldn’t say so. Incidentally, that story was dedicated to Bob Dylan because she was apparently inspired to write it after listening to one of his songs. As per Wikipedia, I should add — must cite sources! ;)

Some of the apologist missives regarding this have been disastrous. I only hope they’re hopeful rather than expectant.

Or maybe someone hurling accusations of witch-hunting, creepiness, and stalking have some kind of close personal relationship with Okparanta….

No one has any intentions to stalk Okparanta – just pointing out that the Okparanta marketing machine is going into overdrive, trying to sell this “Conversations between Benji & Corrie” theory.

If it is really a homage, authorized by Alice Munro, why has Munro not said a word about it, or why has Okparanta not produced any correspondence that Munro or her agent or publisher authorised a nigerian version of one of her stories? Did she even write to Munro or Knopf?

And if she is afraid of us analyzing other stories of hers for plagiarism, we looked at a couple of stories and found no plagiarism. You will also notice that Trevor, who runs this blog, explicitly told us not to pursue it- that is the reason no one has done it.

None of us here is dying to read another Okparanta story. .

TNY’s limited damage control, amending the interview and deleting one or more comments seems more than enough evidence they feel “caught” at something. While I find the notion the connection between the stories was meant to be unspoken and then uncovered an interesting one, as if it were all some vague stab at rather contrived performance art, to which I believe Betsy alluded, I find evidence to the contrary more compelling.

What I see here is a group of happy individuals proud to read and contribute to a stellar Web site, further moved to be a part of something even more extraordinary–the chance to be part of a well intended, well justified debate over editorial decisions at TNY that have legal, moral and ethical implications to all involved: writers, readers, and TNY employees. That TNY likely has eyes on this coverage as well can only further contribute to this exuberant, zealous, energized discussion.

If anyone could be characterized as such, Munro herself seems the most likely stalking victim here.

I’m glad that others are starting to agree with me. It’s surely up to the readers to decide whether the stories are too similar. The view that too much has been copied is absolutely legitimate but that is purely an opinion. Those who hold that opinion should accept that it’s just an opinion instead of talking about lawyers etc. and trying to create a scandal out of what is really just a negative opinion.

It seems factually incorrect to imply that this campaign is necessary to preserve the art of short fiction. Many readers and writers are unfortunately deserting this form. There are many reasons for this socially complex trend. How many writers who no longer write short stories would give as their reason that they’re concerned that their work may be copied or plagiarised? Almost none, I would guess. This is absolutely a non-issue.

Also, if Okparanta did say some slightly evasive things in her interview, so what?? Show me the person who always tells the absolute truth about everything when publicly interviewed?

Paul Epstein

I just went on Twitter and realized that it took a good two days between Mookse’s requests for comment and TNY’s updated author interview. If this was indeed all so innocent, that seems like a long time to clear things up, does it not?

I would also like to say that I don’t think we should ascribe dark personal motives to the commenters here, on either side of the argument (or get personal about Okparanta either — I think many of us have been sensitive about how any potential fallout could affect her). I can’t imagine anyone has any grudges against the author, and if anything, we are all fans of the magazine and take no pleasure in seeing them “trip up”.

Speaking for myself, I guess the reason why I feel strongly about this is that I’m close with some people who were accused of plagiarism in college, even though they had absolutely no intention to do so. Yet they were still punished for it. As I’m sure we all know, most universities have very strict guidelines when it comes to plagiarism and there is absolutely no room for error or debate. I would really like to know: if an MFA student submitted this story in a writing class without giving any indication that it was based on another writer’s work, would that be acceptable? Surely, a publication of such repute as TNY should be held to even higher standards.

Kaavya Viswanathan’s case has interesting similarities with this one.

http://bit.ly/d21omD

I guess different rules apply to different plagiarists – if you copy Chick-lit, you are scarred for life. If you copy Alice Munro, you can claim you are paying homage.

I just found the details of Okparanta’s whereabouts strange, Avataram, that’s all. I still very much doubt that where she’s headed this coming week has anything to do with the marketing machine overdrive — author events usually get scheduled in advance, and of course we know the New Yorker story only just came out. That just doesn’t say overdrive to me, if there’s any overdrive it’s on this blog, but of course some discussions must be had. If one can bring these kinds of irrelevant details about the author’s whereabouts in public, then some of us will have to wonder about the kinds of things you’re doing in private, something is just not right here. I have already agreed that failure to disclose intent is an issue, but I don’t think anybody would need to show correspondence with Munro to prove its a homage, an acknowledgement should be enough, which we’ve established should have accompanied Benjy. I’m glad Trevor stopped the witch hunt, this blog still needs to be taken seriously unless it also serves as a circus. And it’s totally ok to know that “none of us here” is dying to read Okparanta’s stories, apparently you’re the group spokesperson. Good for you, it will keep your excellent tastes from getting polluted. And Tsince, I will indeed join you in reading Okparanta — if a child does something wrong, a pinch is enough — you don’t take a slab of concrete and bash its head. Even with this unfortunate incident, Okparanta is still talented and human and will hopefully grow and learn from her mistakes. And this is not just an Okparanta lesson, I for one have learned that imitation can be a form of plagiarism, and this helps me as a young writer. I didn’t necessarily know that this is not like rap music where people are always doing remixes etc. And by the way, if your resident detectives happen to know where Okparanta in the coming weeks, please keep us posted.

This response is my opinion and while it does sadden me that an individual here must be called out (I would rather this be a hypothetical thought), Chinelo Okparanta is a grown woman who can make choices. Just like you and I, she must also expect that her choices have consequences.

I’ve now read both stories. Clear reappropriation, if not outright theft.

To paraphrase Flannery O’Connor, I also think MFA programs don’t stifle enough writers. Perhaps Okparanta would have been well served to be stifled as a writer long ago, pre-Iowa, because – as most of us know – one’s basic human nature is very difficult to change as an adult. The kind and caring lover we had when we were 20 will likely be similar when we bump into them again 10 or 15 years later. The smarmy little roommate who was rumored to be a pilferer of things in college will likely still inhabit the same ethical galaxy when he is 43 and runs the local string of oil-change shops. The cousin whom you knew as a timid but proud girl at 18 will likely be a version of that self when you go to visit her on a drive across the country.

I don’t know how Chinelo Okparanta was early on, but she seems by my reading to be a writer who has likely, but not definitively:

1. Stolen a story and gussied it up to fool the first internal readers;

2. Is caught;

3. Is forced to address that theft (with likely an overnight heads-up as to the nature – if not the exact words – of the question that legal has advised she MUST answer in writing);

4. Pulls an all-nighter to consider a careful answer (that she hopes will tamp down the furor but will probably live in infamy), and try to come up with a couple hundred words to become the sea anchor in her stormy career, the stabilizing force to protect against the next thirty years of a torrent of questions about the authenticity of every single piece she publishes; and

5. Once that answer is published and the public gets to read it, is scrutinized further – and fairly – by many people and is parsed and picked and poked at until you realize there is something still exceedingly rotten in the state of Denmark.

To wit, the relevant section in the updated Q&A:

Q-Several readers have noticed the parallels between your story and Alice Munro’s story “Corrie,” which was published in the magazine, in 2010. You’ve mentioned that “Benji” was modeled on “Corrie”; can you talk about what you hoped that modeling would do?

A-I am a big fan of Alice Munro’s writing, which I was introduced to while at Iowa. At the time, I couldn’t help thinking how so many of her stories felt so “Nigerian”: quite a few of her characters recalled people I knew in Nigeria, and some of her conflicts mirrored conflicts that were in some ways trademarks of Nigerian culture. I was working on a story about a poor couple in Nigeria who created an illness plot in order to get money from a rich, unmarried, pale-skinned short man. After reading “Corrie,” I wanted “Benji” to work as an homage to Munro regarding the parallel plot/structure points, but with different sociocultural contexts, in a way that gave rise to, I hope, a wholly new story. I think pieces of art can speak to each other where the craft is concerned, while also allowing the possibility for divergent discourses concerning the specifics of culture and society. That is, I hoped that this sort of modeling would help set up a discourse, particularly in terms of how space and culture can influence a story and how it is read. For me, it was key to ground my story in the culture of Nigeria. There was, for instance, the issue of a wealth divide, which is a topical issue in Nigeria, and is seen through the characters of Alare and her husband, versus Benji’s family. There was also the issue of religion. But, most of all, there was a focus on health care, because Nigeria is known for the way its élites and government officials (like Yar’Adua) have had to travel to foreign countries in order to get medical care, for lack of quality of care in our own country. This last bit formed the premise of my scheme and was a large part of my story.

Ba. Lo. Ney. Utter and total olive loaf.

Okparanta’s answer, especially the 98 words from “After reading…” through “…how it is read” – are the squirrely thoughts of a gutsick high school student who has been caught red-handed plagiarizing something for their college entrance essay and – in lieu of looking the college interviewer straight in the face and saying ‘I lied’ and getting the hard, but needed, early-life body-check to jiggle his compass – chooses to reinvent himself in a short space as a shrewd artiste, an ambitious thinker, a philosopher just dabbling in fiction to discuss more important questions of culture and society.

With one choice, we can jump into an abyss that soon becomes home. We can shoot the works and hope the dice don’t settle till long after we’re gone. But these days – especially these electronic info days – it doesn’t work that way.

I am all for compassion, but I also am tired of writers who gain success in the same sleazy ways that we expect (and know) from our politicians or businessmen or sports stars or even musicians. Perhaps I am an idealist, but when I sit down to read a story, I do want to believe it was created from some core sensibility that existed precisely at that one moment in the history of moments and came through the heart of one particular writer who – if they were to be snatched up by aliens after tapping out ‘The End’ – would leave a hole in the space time continuum that was shaped like no other hole that ever was or will be, a hole as unique as a snowflake.

Say nothing of the bunkum that is TNY’s ham-handed and revisionist ‘fix’ (TNY needs some housekeeping, has for a while). This, I suspect is already being addressed by a crack squad of TNY’s attorneys, executives and other VIPs bunking in an Ontario hotel trying to explain to one of their magazine’s brightest contributors how their little team of way, way underqualified and overly-well-connected Fiction Interns got this one over on Treisman’s fill-in while she was away. (And if she wasn’t away, holy crapoli, this is a stinkeroo on her resume).

Okparanta, is self-described as having OCD [See interview excerpt below] and seems, to me, to have some issues seeing a ‘cycle of wrongdoing’ in herself. (I’m going to buy the two stories referenced elsewhere in the comments that may have some relevance to this whole discussion). Her late addition to the Q&A tells me she needs something else than more validation of her ‘craft’ with further publication.

Tom Waits has said, and I do believe it might be one of the most important things a person can learn – artist or architect, plumber or painter – ‘If two people know the same things, one of you is unnecessary.’ Boy, does that apply to this scandal. You pick whom.

A consecutive portion of Rae Winkelstein-Duveneck’s interview with Chinelo Okparanta in The Iowa Review.

RW: In your stories, there seems to be a high value placed on shared experiences – children bathing together or playing outside, families eating and attending church together— all in a sort of easy and consistent way. Is that sort of existence in your past, and would you like it to be in your future?

CO: Yes, this communal nature of existence was somewhat my childhood experience—at least in an idealized version of my childhood. It is certainly something that I’d like to be in my future. It would seem that life would somehow be rendered more meaningful where there are shared experiences, etc. But then sometimes it occurs to me that I have grown very much accustomed to solitude, and perhaps that’s just as well.

RW: Nneoma, the main character in “Story, Story!” who repeatedly poisons pregnant women, is moved to tears by these words in a sermon: “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” The words cause genuine penitence in her, though she will still attempt the same thing after hearing them. I get the sense from your writing that there is a deep interest in self-deception and in the importance and difficulty of clear-sighted self-examination.

CO: Yes, we’re all quite adept at recognizing wrongdoing in ourselves and yet making excuses for our actions and in doing so repeating the cycle of wrongdoing.

RW: Yet some people seem to be able to change such cycles. What do you think accounts for that difference?

CO: I’m not exactly sure what accounts for the difference. Some people are probably just more introspective and more self-scrutinizing than others—more meditative as a whole, and perhaps more able to be honest with themselves. And, I suppose having a healthy dose of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder where morality is concerned does help to keep one from repeating a cycle of wrongdoing.

RW: Interesting. You wouldn’t by any chance be referring to yourself regarding that condition?

CO: Quite possibly.

Oh, and I agree completely with Mark about the purpose, and life-changing qualities, of a good short story. It’s like discovering a new room in your house that you never knew existed – not coming home to find that someone painted the living-room blue.

Paul: My apologies. I wasn’t targeting you personally; the Lotto thing was the first thing that came to my mind, because it seemed such a bizarre detour. My reaction, however, was to the hot-blooded passion and fervor some comments displayed in support of “Benji” and its author, which for me clashed with the otherwise almost clinical discussion here. It seemed strange, as if they were defending a relative (or themselves). That sort of passion is out-of-place if you’re not personally involved.

Paul: I would like it to having your relatives and friends review your book on amazon (anonymously, of course). They may truly like the book, but is that valuable insight for me as a buyer?

Returning to the issue at hand, why don’t we compare it to the movies. What if a new director came along and made the movie “Midnight in Paris” again, a mere three years after the original, keeping the exact same sequence of scenes, and calling it “At Noon in Nantucket”. Wouldn’t you feel cheated? I can’t imagine a situation where that would make sense. Unless Gertrude Stein came back to life and wanted to correct a few scenes. But then again, she would be entitled to it.

This has obviously been a very confusing, troubling event to everyone who has contributed to this commentary.

The teacher in me knows that communication would benefit if the dialog focused on the story itself, as specifically as possible, without reference to the author. It is the story and all of its parts that are important.

This is not easy to do. It takes a lot of time to read closely and write accurately. It is extraordinarily difficult to do so with two stories at the same time. It is best to address small sections. You will notice that Trevor’s posts usually only cover part of the story and always have direct quotation.

For myself, I need a breather. I recommend reflection.

We should remember that many people are reading what we write. We have an obligation of leadership and an obligation to Trevor, as well as one to both of the authors and also to each other. I think that obligation, especially of leadership, rests in focusing on the story.

What matters in literature is what the literature says. If we have the energy to do it correctly, it should be the literature we address, in its own words.

Mark, you went through all the trouble of finding, reading, and quoting the referenced interview only to arrive at this conclusion: “Okparanta, is self-described as having OCD [See interview excerpt below] and seems, to me, to have some issues seeing a ‘cycle of wrongdoing’ in herself. (I’m going to buy the two stories referenced elsewhere in the comments that may have some relevance to this whole discussion). Her late addition to the Q&A tells me she needs something else than more validation of her ‘craft’ with further publication.” I just wanted to express my condolences.

I read “Benji”; read “Corrie”; read “Benji” again. My immediate (and thus tentative) opinion is that “Benji” is definitely an improvement on what is a not uncommon storyline found both in fiction and in the annals of criminality: extortion under false pretenses, with a nice twist at the end. This kind of plot line is certainly not original with Alice Munro, so I don’t expect her to make much of a fuss. As for the alleged point-by-point correlation between the two stories– I don’t see them, and would appreciate if someone would enlighten this benighted reader by pointing them out in detail. The ending in both stories on how the deception is found out, for example, is entirely different in my opinion — though I found Okparanta’s much more overt, plausible and convincing,

I too appreciate the civil tone here. So thanks for what i think is an important discussion.

And Artsy, I don’t know why you are offering me your condolences. Would love to know more. If my parenthetical reference to two stories appears to you to refer to the original pieces of discussion, you are mistaken. I am talking about Okparanta’s ‘Design’ and another writer’s story that was published in Zoetrope that a commenter mentioned as possibly having authentication problems, too. I tried to lay out a fairly long and reasoned argument for my thinking on the topic. Your short post of 11.16.13 at 2:32 PM contains 28 words of your own sandwiched around my quote and (I might be a little thick), I just do not understand it.

Thanks.

In response to Parker’s request for evidence about the point-by-point correlation between the two stories: You’ll find it in many of the posts above; if you don’t want to read them all (understandable given the volume), check out Betsy’s Nov. 10, 3:57 post. I don’t believe anyone has contested the accuracy of what is pointed out there.

Paul, you and I do agree on one aspect of this: I don’t think one needs to be a writer or artist to recognize what Okparanta has done and the gravity of it. If a mathematician had discovered something new and important (say, proved a difficult theorem, if that makes sense), published it in a scholarly journal, and then, three years later, attended a conference where another mathematician presented that same theorem as his own, but did so in a paper that was cosmetically different (say, printed in a different font), I suspect mathematician #1 would be duly outraged, as would his colleagues and supporters. Okparanta merely made cosmetic changes to the Munro story – mainly just moving the setting to Nigeria. So most of us commenting on “Benji” are duly outraged.

In response to Paul’s comment that many comments here appear to assume Okparanta’s guilt – There are two defenses possible in this case. One is the Intended Homage Defense – that it was an intended homage and TNY made an editing mistake in not saying so. The Second is the Unintended Plagiarism Defense.

The only issue is that having used the first defense, Okparanta cannot use the second defense. They are mutually exclusive. Either there was intent or there was no intent.She has already chosen the first.

Okparanta’s plagiarism was obvious well before she made her unconvincing defense. Posts in this thread pointed out the mimicry before the Q&A was revised because the plagiarism was apparent before the revision occurred.

I don’t believe anyone critical of Okparanta on this thread has relied exclusively on the similarity of “plot elements.” As previous posts have demonstrated, dialogue and characters have been mimicked as well. The notion that this extensive, thorough an imitation could be done unconsciously strains credulity beyond any limit.

Lots of originality? Seriously? Where?

Earlier today, I stumbled across a quotation attributed to Jack Kerouac – it makes for good advice to Okparanta: “Put down the pen someone else gave you. No one ever drafted a life worth living on borrowed ink.”

Yes, changes that are cosmetic, like the different font used by my hypothetical mathematician. Maybe it’s time to say res ipsa loquitur!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIh3swyGYX4

15:00

Archer,

As a defender of the author, I do understand that others understand the concepts of homage and appropriation. The key issue is what is “acceptable” in this context. Surely, readers have got the right to make up their own minds in this regard. I fully agree that points of close similarity have been exhaustively noted. Are those points of similarity “acceptable”? I would answer yes, but the majority of people who contribute most actively to this blog would answer “no”. Surely, “acceptability” is a matter of opinion in this context? I fully accept that there may be a consensus on this issue in MFA circles, and I may be outside of this consensus.

I’d also like to point out that it’s wrong to say that only someone who’s not a literary artist would defend the author. If you look at Noviolet Bulawayo’s interview with the author, it’s absolutely clear that Bulawayo fully endorses the piece. I do not know if there are any other writers who back Okparanta but those who are attacking her need to acknowledge that she has at least one defender in the literary community.

It also seems completely unfair to say that Munro’s silence indicates disapproval. What nonsense! A defender could equally say that the fact that Munro hasn’t joined the accusations of plagiarism means that Munro feels comfortable about it. Both conclusions from Munro’s silence are equally ridiculous.

Intertextuality,

Thanks for sharing the youtube video. However, unless readers know who you are, they have no grounds for trusting the link. If you post a URL, you should post a few words to introduce it so that we know it’s not a virus link.

Paul Epstein

2 more things; is anyone having trouble loading this blog?

AND: if Okparanta thought her story was an ethical and valuable retelling of “corrie,” she would have been upfront about it.

This is the same as the post above, but with the typos corrected. My apologies.

The following list addresses 21 similarities in the first column of the story. “Corrie” has about 15 columns and “Benji” has about 19. Thus the following comparison is from a very small percentage of the story.

1. Both stories open at the dinner table, and each story has an elderly parent entertaining a guest. Both stories have an adult child of the parent at the table, too.

2. Both parents speak to the guest in the opening paragraph about money.
Corrie’s father opens with: “It isn’t a good thing to have the money concentrated all in one family, the way you do in a place like this.”
Benji’s mother says Benji has been “bequeathed such an expansive estate.”
There is virtually no difference in the opening. Both parents are beyond the pale – no one in their right mind talks about family money to a dinner guest.

3. Both parents insult their children by speaking as if they aren’t there. Both parents show no tenderness toward their child.
Corrie’s father says, “I mean, for a girl like my daughter Corrie here. For example, I mean, like her.”
Benji’s mother says: If her son doesn’t marry, “People will begin to suspect.”

4. Both stories tell us where Corrie and Benji are each looking during the parental tirade.
Corrie is quite direct, “looking their guest in the eye.”
Benji is not direct. He is “staring at a point” above his mother’s head.

5. Both children resist their parent’s insulting behavior, but in different ways:
Corrie laughs at her father. Benji doesn’t laugh – he scowls.

6. Both parents tell the guest how old their child is, but both parents get the number wrong.
Corrie’s father is off by a year.
Benji’s mother is off by two years.
Both parents thus indicate a carelessness about their own child, not knowing the age. Parents almost always try to keep the ages of their adult children straight.

7. Both Corrie and Benji correct their parents.
Corrie corrects her father and gives him the correct age – “twenty-six”.
Benji corrects his mother and gives her the correct age – “Forty-two.”

8. Both parents attempt to save face.
Corrie’s father says, “Go ahead…Laugh all you like.”
Benji’s mother says, ”I don’t see the reason for the scowl.”

9. Both Corrie and Benji resist their parents, somewhat in the manner of a teenager.
Corrie: “She laughed out loud, and indeed, what else could she do?”
Benji: “Benji carried on scowling. // What else was there to do but scowl?”

10. Both stories allude to the idea that there is no one of their station to marry.
Benji challenges his mother on the marriage issue: “Well, who am I supposed to marry?”
Corrie’s father, in the story’s first sentence, says, “Nobody on the same level.”

11. Both stories introduce the guest about half way down the first column.

12. Both stories wait to reveal whose point of view is being used to tell the story. There is an element of surprise when we realize it is the guest from whose point of view the story will be told. . Both use the same narrative point of view – the limited third person. In both cases, it is the guest whose thoughts we hear. At this point, we do not hear the thoughts of the others in either story.

Narrator (Corrie) : “…what else could she do? The guest thought.”
Narrator: (Benji): “”What else was there to do but scowl? Alare thought.”

13. In both stories, the reader wonders whether the reason they have not married is only because there is no one rich enough. For one thing, one wonders, rich enough for whom? The reader is already beginning to wonder if this parent-child battle is just one more in a long string of battles.

14. Both stories reveal at this point that the guest is married and that each has children.
Benji’s guest, Alare, has married “fairly late” and “she had all the trappings of a family.”
Corrie’s guest, Howard, was “already equipped with a wife and young family”.

15. There is no indication at this point that either Corrie or Benji know the guest’s marital status.

16. Both guests rate the relative attractiveness of their hosts’ child.
Howard says of Corrie: “Not much meat on the bone.”
Alare says of Benji: “…the kind [of light brown skin] that under bright light had a tendency to glow a little yellow, like an onye ocha’s— a white man’s.”

17. Both guests reflect on the thinking capacities of their hosts’ child.
Howard expects Corrie “to have a conventional mind.”
Alare says Benji is “the kind of man who spent hours mulling over nothing.”

18. Both stories give us a paragraph of background about the guest.
Howard is an architect who has been hired by Corrie’s father to repair the Anglicans’ steeple.
Alare is a wife who has married a man quite younger than herself and is beginning to feel her age.

19. Both stories allude to the interest of each parent in appearances.
Corrie’s father is upset because the Anglicans are letting the tower on their church fall down.
Benji’s mother has mahogany furniture, and wears a “yellow-gold scarf, tied in the shape of a flower blossom”.

20. Both stories allude to the parents’ attraction to tall, towering things:
Corrie’s father is concerned with a tower.
Benji’s mother has an “elaborately decorated head” in the shape of a flower.

21. Both authors assign a predilection for prejudice to both parents.
Corrie’s father is described as having revealed his prejudices to Howard regarding the “poor class of Irish Protestants” who frequented the Anglican church.
Benji’s mother says “People will suspect” if her son doesn’t marry. She appears to want to avoid being associated with a son who might be a weakling or worse.

This list represents 21 similarities between the two stories before we have even finished one third of the first page. These similarities are in setting, characterization, narrative point of view, tone, and plot action. There is also one point where the words “what else” are used to introduce essentially the same idea.

In addition, both stories imply that possibly each parent in each story is seducing the guest with promises of money – that whoever takes this child off their hands will have money. This is strange, but money is the topic in this first column.

The question is not whether this story is based on Munro’s. The question is to what extent do the similarities occur? At this point, I am only speaking about the first column.

That’s amazing, Betsy. And this is completely insane. I must draw the same conclusion as Ethan: whoever was in charge at The New Yorker did not know about this, did not even suspect that it was modeled on “Corrie”. Looking at this list – and it’s only a short story, not a novel – you can’t even say that Okparanta acted as a writer when she created “Benji”.

Betsy’s list is imposing, though I think it weakens after no. 17, when it becomes almost humorous. Can anyone read No. 20, where a telling parallel is found between a church tower a headdress, without a chuckle?

I think this weakening in Betsy’s list indicates a divergence in the stories that continues right to the endings, where Corrie’s moment of truth about the deception occurs in her bed and Benji’s at Alare’s place, where he sees her dancing with her groundskeeper husband, Godwin.

I’d be surprised if an equal list of similarities between the two stories can be fond at the stories’ ends — though after their respective revelations Corrie does prepare coffee and Benji has buttered toast and fried eggs.

i

Mark, I am expressing my condolences because you are obviously twisting the interview to further your witch hunt, and that’s just tragic. OCD is a real issue, and it’s downright cheap and inappropriate to even have it figure in this discussion in any shape or form. And, with all due respect, I didn’t expect that I (if the warning was applied to me) or anyone would be called out for “belittling” another when a part of this conversation has been about belittling Okparanta, the writer/person. That doesn’t sound fair to me. Now, it’s good to see the list of similarities; it confirms what I initially thought, i.e. it shouldn’t take a genius to find the connections between two stories, the level of intertextuality is high and in your face – you found the connections because you were meant to find them. What is fascinating to me is that even with this level of intertextuality, some people still missed the connection, and it is precisely this fact that speaks to the success of Benji as a piece that stands on it’s own no matter how much it borrows from Corrie. Okparanta is not without talent, and writes well, and I have no doubt she could have written Benji without Corrie if she chose to (and there is nothing amazing about the plot by the way) but she obviously wanted to do something interesting. She did. I am definitely going to try it because I’m not convinced it’s a bad thing to do, but I will obviously need to remember to mention the mother story.

Two of the recent comments, both skeptical of the plagiarism accusation, seem to disagree with one another. One commenter believes the similarities between the stories are so close and so numerous that they serve as proof that “Benji” is not a work of plagiarism; rather, Betsy’s list demonstrates Okparanta’s capacity for being “interesting.”

The other commenter minimizes the significance of the list by saying it “weakens” after its first seventeen (!) examples and that the stories “diverge” after those seventeen.

I’d be interested in a discussion between these two commenters. Is Benji an ingenious replica, or a head-fake where the similarities are pronounced only at the stories’ openings?

Also, I’d be interested in hearing how the “diverge” argument stands up against the similarities pointed out elsewhere on this thread. E.g., the condom scene and the paramour’s joke about murdering the lover’s spouse, both of which occur after the alleged divergence.

Well, according to the trusty Oxford Dictionary, an “homage” is “a special honor or respect shown publicly”.

I don’t know how others would define the world “public”, but if only one person (Ethan) immediately recognized the Alice Munro connection, and TNY editors didn’t see fit to acknowledge it in the original author Q&A, I think I would have to make the bold and radical assertion that perhaps this “homage” was not “public” enough.

I’ve commented a lot on this. My position hasn’t changed much, but I don’t see myself as a particular “defender” of the piece even though I’ve been cast that way, and in fact I think I described myself that way.

That’s not correct. I do think some criticisms are valid. My thinking is that there are many reasons why a piece of writing may be criticized. For example, a story might be unconvincing, or not interesting etc. etc. etc. Here, the main criticism is “unoriginal — even largely copied.”

To me, that’s just one of many reasons a reader might dislike a story. Just as we would never have a trial and investigation if an author wrote a boring story, I don’t like the idea of a trial and investigation for an unoriginal story.

Furthermore, I can prove clear instances of where those attacking the author have made clear errors in overstating their case. For example, it is strongly implied that no writer would defend what Okparanta has done. Well, that’s clearly wrong because NoViolet Bulawayo called the story “a fine experiment”. So then it is suggested that maybe Bulawayo didn’t read Corrie and therefore didn’t know what she was talking about. This seems like a very weak suggestion to me.

Those who are attacking the author are sometimes clearly wrong and sometimes clearly right. They are clearly right to point out the list of similarities, clearly right that the New Yorker didn’t realise the similarities, and clearly right that this incident is unusual.

They are clearly wrong to engage in wild guesswork when others see things otherwise or have not made their thoughts clear. I have made remarks defensive of the author so I must have been sent to water down the discussion. Bulawayo defends the story but her view is simply swept aside without acknowledging it or investigating further. Munro hasn’t spoken on it, so she must strongly agree with the plagiarism assertions.

Paul Epstein

avataram, that is interesting about the $7500 (I’m glad it’s not more) and the potential consequences for Okparanta. I bet Okparanta could avoid risking those outcomes if she were to apologize unconditionally and donate her fee to an appropriate charity, such as one that promotes ethics in the arts. TNY could make a similar apology and donate a multiple of Okparanta’s fee ($75K sounds about right) to that same charity.

I won’t hold my breath waiting for this to happen, but I think it would work wonders in repairing the damage and stopping the entirely justified criticism being leveled against both the writer and the magazine.

Also, “Corrie,” is popular, was a jury’s favorite–PEN O’ Henry Prize. Maybe this story had been in the pile and TNY decided to publish it because Alice Munro recently won the Nobel.

Agree with Paul that some criticisms are valid, but some others may just be guesswork.

For me it is an issue of timeline, as I mentioned earlier. Munro times the first conversation by talking about Tommy Douglas, Saskatchewan premier from 1944-1961. So the initial conversation happened sometime in this period. In “Corrie” there is no indication how long the blackmail went on for – there is some reference to Sadie’s typing lessons at the start and her education just after the blackmail began (in her early 20s?) and when she died she was 46. So, let us say the blackmail went on for 15-20 years, maybe even more. Even if it started in 1961 and went on for 20 years, we are in 1981.

In Okparanta, the politician referred to is Umaru Yar’Adua, President of Nigeria from 2007-2010. He was sick from the start, but became very sick in 2009 and handed over to his Vice President – Goodluck Jonathan. Even if we assume it started in 2007, and we are in 2013 – the blackmail could have gone on for atmost 6-7 years (until 2013). If he was very sick, then the blackmail may have started only in 2009 or later. A few thousand Naira every now and then ($1=159 Naira) is not enough to buy a couple of cars, fix the house and for the gardener to quit in 6-7 years.

What kind of author, paying homage or otherwise, not think of her timeline first? Maybe she was copying, maybe she is poor at multiplying two numbers – only she knows.

This is my equivalent of Paul’s “Lotto” issue, but this time, the problem is in Benji.

She didn’t have to get any special permission. I remember writing a poem in my creative writing class, and I asked my Prof., beforehand, if I could borrow a concept from a popular poem without plagiarising and he gave me the go-ahead. My Prof. is a proffesional writer with an MFA in poetry. Why should I doubt him? You guys should leave this author alone. Some of the comments were sure getting personal.

Also, out of curiousity I googled “Lorrie Moore Referential plagiarism” and came across an issue similar to this on a blog:

http://paulettealden.com/blog/lorrie-moores-too-referential/

Also note how Nabokov’s story was published in the New Yorker, too. I don’t think Okparanta did anything unproffesional.

Ok. Its quite clear there is no plagiarism here. The misconception came from the interview which didn’t mention “Corrie” at first. I don’t think it was a big deal, either, because readers who buy TNY in print don’t get to read “This week in Fiction.”

I imagined a situation where Okparanta could be a victim of an editorial carelessness:

Okparanta writes a story – one about a poor couple making up a illness plot to get money from a rich, unmarried man, set in Nigeria. TNY likes it, but it is not very New Yorker like, so they force her to make endless edits. She is tired of it, until a fiction editor or intern suggests Munro’s “Corrie” as a guide to improve her story. Okparanta, eager to get her first story in TNY, takes the advice and makes Benji too close a copy of it. This time, the version is acceptable to TNY and they publish it. Okparanta feels her original story was good enough, so she doesnt refer to Corrie & TNY feels happy with the final edits.

Then the comments, emails and blogs start, and Okparanta appeals to TNY saying that you could have published my original story, bad as it was – it was your suggestion to improve it using Corrie. TNY is horrified, and more worried about covering its back than the authors, so a week later, they publish the extra question in Q&A.

In deflecting the “Corrie” connection to “Several readers”, TNY may have pushed all the responsibility onto Okparanta, while TNY’s editors/interns maybe wholly or partly to blame for the fiasco.

No, I made my conclusions myself. Its your opinion if you think it is.

This post addresses the way Okparanta adapts the rest of her first section to Munro’s.
1. There are several differences: this section in “Benji” is much longer; time is devoted to describing Mrs. Anyaogu’s style and display versus Mr. Carlton’s lack of style and Yankee lack of display; additional time is spent introducing the contretemps at Mrs. Anyogu’s church, when the pastor is found out to be stealing money. Although this church money angle matches the long-con theme of both stories, it goes nowhere and feels odd, as if it is from another story entirely, and maybe should have been. “Benji” introduces another idea that also goes nowhere: while Mr. Carlton, who is a Methodist, thinks the Anglicans are bringing the town down, while Mrs. Anyaogu easily switches from her sect to another.
2. Both stories elaborate about the background of the con artist (who, of course, in both stories is only revealed, in waves, about being a deceiver).

Munro encapsulates a world of foreshadowing in one short paragraph when she has Howard (in “Corrie”) make a peculiar double entendre when Corrie asks him if he supports Tommy Douglas. “He said that his wife supported him. Actually, he wife didn’t think Douglas was far left enough, but he wasn’t going to get into that.” When you re-read the story, you see that Howard’s unconscious has spoken the truth – his wife supports Howard, or his wife’s extra money makes it possible for them to have a better life. There is an imbalance in Howard from the start, not to mention that his job restoring a steeple, which could probably have been done by contractor, is not exactly Frank Lloyd Wright territory.

Alare, “Benji’s” con, also is living with an imbalance: she is older than her husband. Being in her fifties, and having a much younger husband, represents a possible come-uppance for Alare in bed.

Howard and Alare both have the upper hand in their marriages, though: Howard is the man and his wife doesn’t have that much money; Alare “had no reason to believe that [her husband] had ever gone against her wishes. // She was the one who had finally gone against them.” Not to dwell on an editing problem, but that “them” is confusing, a la Ashbery, and jarring rather than effective. Anyway, both Howard and ALare have the upper hand in their marriages, or, both have to wiggle to maintain the upper hand.

3. Both Corrie and Benji ask their guest what they think of their respective country’s president: Tommy Douglas, the premier of Canada, and Yar’Adua, the President of Nigeria. Munro uses this to pivot onto Howard’s wife “supporting” him. Munro drops it at that, although the issues of money and class are reinforced, Howard’s wife being a wealthy liberal.

Left-Right and far left in Canada are mirrored with tribal politics in Nigeria. The tribe in power is the Hausa-Fulani, Alare’s husband belongs to the Igbo tribe but supports the president, and Alare is a Yoruba. Nigerians would also pick up on the religious differences among these tribes, the Igbo being heavily Christian, while the Yoruba are divided between Christian and Muslim. The Hausa are often Muslim. But all these tribes also retain influences of the original tribal religion. Again, this is an introduced theme, one which is a source of enormous conflict (and rich diversity) in Nigeria, but which is kind of a dead-end in this story.

Both Howard and Alare reply to the political question by saying what their spouse thinks.

Both stories elaborate slightly on the issue of the president.
Corrie uses it to make a joke – that her father is a “communist” which makes her father “snort”.
Alare remarks upon her husband’s shallow political views – “always a fan of the aristos.”

Both stories thus use politics as a means to suggests divided loyalties in their characters, although in Corrie, for the one, and Alare, for the other. The difference between the stories is that Munro uses the slight elaboration to underscore the conflict between father and daughter, and Okparanta to underscore the way Alare condescends to her husband. This is a difference between the stories, but a difference of no particular weight or ultimate significance.

4. Both stories address what Alare and Howard think of the furnishings and style of the host.
Howard thinks the Carlton “dining room is hideous” He notes that “everything looked as if it had been in place before the turn of the century.”
Alare thinks that the splendiferous Anyaogu living room is “tacky”, but unlike Howard, she goes on at length about just how tacky it is.

5. Both stories have the guest judge the food that is served.
Howard thinks the Carlton food is “barely all right.”
Alare thinks the Anyaogu food is “delicious”.
There is a difference here: Howard feels no discomfort about his table manners, while Alare feels put off about the fork, and would rather eat in the customary fashion, with her “hands”.

6. Both stories indicate that the hosts have money in the landscape.
Howard notices the Carlton “wide lawns” and view of the river.
Alare notices at length that the Anyaogu gardens look like “Versailles”.

Thus, both stories have the con-artist not only judge their mark, they also use real estate to size up the monetary value in the mark. Only Alare goes on at length, which is of no weight in the significance of the story. She simply goes on at length.

7. Both Benji and Corrie manage to get the guest in private; both take their guest outside. Both stories clearly suggest that the “mark” may have a con of their own they wish to run – i.e., they may sense the supplicant in Howard and Alare; they may sense the hunger in the way they look over the place; they may sense the deference with which these two both address the tyrannical parent. That is, both Corrie and Benji may sense in the guest someone with whom they might finally get the upper hand, given their deferential posture.
8. Both Benji and Corrie suggest that they should watch the sunset. In this way they both test out whether or not this is someone they can direct, whether this is someone who will defer.
In this section, Alare goes on at length to compare her husband to Benji, making clear she thinks Benji a poor specimen. Howard doesn’t bother to compare Corrie to his wife, typical of Munro’s hallmark – her concision.
9. Both Benji and Corrie get their mark’s attention by announcing they will be traveling, Corrie to Egypt and Benji to Dubai.
10. Both Howard and Alare have a moment of decision … they both realize that someone may get to their prey before they do.
Howard thinks: “Some creepy fortune hunter was bound to snap her up…”
Alare thinks: “…some gold-digging young woman would eventually agree to marry him.”
11. Both Corrie and Benji refer to an overblown parental reaction to their child’s infirmity.
Corrie: “Once he fired not just a kid who teased me but his entire family. I mean, even cousins.”
Benji: When his mother overheard a taunt against Benji in a restaurant, “…she began screaming, crying, pulling out her hair. She wound up on the floor, in a corner of the restaurant, her hair sticking up at odd angles from her head, her clothes disheveled.”

Notice though, how economical Munro is.

This ends section one of both stories. There is no significant development of any new themes. The details of the Nigerian version are interesting, but not significant in a thematic way. Both stories develop the idea that Benji and Corrie are setting their sights on someone they can control. Both stories develop the idea that for Alare and Howard, it is time to stop sizing up their mark – time may be of the essence if they are going to be able to complete the con.

My apologies: “said” and “older are misspelled above.

Ethan alludes to an extremely important point: the differences between “Corrie” and “Benji”.

I hope someone will do a careful analysis of the differences between the two stories. For one thing, that would demonstrate the importance of Okparanta’s goals.

At the same time, I would observe that such a detailed comparison takes time and concentrated effort to be done accurately. Therefore, such writing takes a while to surface.

I had a little difficulty submitting the above comment.

I want to say that doing this close comparison is a tedious and not ahappy task. I worry about accuracy. Please let me know if you see anything that needs correction.

I also worry about slighting or misrepresenting either author.

Also – I reiterate that it is also important to look at the ways this story is different and what those differences mean. For me, it makes more sense to write that as a single essay at the end.

Part 1: They meet – in a previous post
Part 2: Postcards – in a previous post
Part 3: The Affair Begins – in a previous post
Extortion Begins: (Benji: page 3, column 3; Corrie, page 2, column 2)
1. Extortion begins in both stories with a complicated story from Howard and Alare, complicated moral hesitation on the part of Howard and Alare, and a complicated response from Corrie and Benji. This section is so delicately maneuvered that it must have been hard for Munro to write. In fact, this is the one section that is longer in Munro than in Okparanta.
2. In Munro, the extortion actually begins with Corrie being softened up by Sadie. Sadie goes “off to find a city job”. For some reason, we don’t know what, Corrie gives “her money for typing lessons so she could better herself.” Whether Sadie and Howard are in cahoots, we do not know.
In “Benji”, there is no such episode. But Sadie’s counterpart in “Benji” is Godwin, the gardener. He does magnificent work that Alare tells us about. That he is Alare’s husband, we do not know until the end. But if Alare has set up a long con, she is definitely and more obviously in cahoots with Godwin.
3. Both Howard and Alare present Corrie and Benji with a complicated story.
Howard’s story begins with Howard and his wife encountering Sadie at a dinner party where Sadie was working as a maid. Sadie has written him a letter threatening to expose him to his wife.
Alare’s story begins with her husband having “terrible bursts of pain in his head… [and]…spasms in his limbs as well.” He is also ‘getting thinner”. She suggests that he will soon be unable to walk.
4. Both stories have a weird glitch or two.
Howard inserts in his story that Sadie noticed his wife’s “silver- fox collar”. Corrie wonders how Sadie would know what a silver-fox collar was. (It’s true she could have known, but what matters is that Corrie is slightly suspicious of the story.)
Alare’s story is a bit of a clunker with so many disparate symptoms. Benji, however, does not challenge the story, for whatever reason. He is stupid? Or smart like a fox?
Howard’s more serious glitch is that he has burned Sadie’s letter. That makes it seem to the reader that he and Sadie are probably not in cahoots.
5. Both Corrie and Benji joke about killing Sadie and the husband, using almost exactly the same words.
Corrie: “I guess killing her is not an option?”
Benji: “I guess letting him go is not an option?”
The way this joke is inserted into the conversation reminds the reader of each elderly parent’s sudden death. One wonders if either Benji or Corrie had “let” their parent go in some way.
6. Both Corrie and Benji feel a change in the atmosphere.
Corrie feels cold.
Benji notices the dark coming on.
Corrie’s coldness is amplified by the fact that Howard’s mood had prevented her from asking him to build a fire. She is already following his lead. He had also “touched her only once”.
7. Both Howard and Alare maneuver Corrie and Benji into bringing up gifting money first.
Corrie: “We could give her the money.”
Benji: “How much do you think it’ll cost?”
And then later, Benji says: “I really don’t mind helping with the bills.”
8. Arrangements are made for payment:
Howard insists on cash to put into a post box twice a year for Sadie to pick up.
Alare accepts Benji’s offer of cash. Ironically, he suggests that Godwin be the courier for any future payments.
9. Both Alare and Howard threaten Corrie and Benji with separation.
When Corrie indicates that their separation is not the worst thing that could happen, Howard doesn’t get it. It is at that point that Corrie suggests “giving” Sadie the money.
Alare outright suggests maybe she should give this relationship with Benji up. Then she says, “I probably won’t be back for a while.” At that point, he gets out the cash.
10. Both stories refer to “a sign”.
Corrie thinks: “For what if he said no? [to her offer of money] It’s a sign we should stop.”
“What [Alare] was saying was that perhaps this was a sign.” She goes on to say: “A sign I should stop fooling around.”
11. Both Howard and Alare manipulate the conversation to make sure that Corrie and Benji feel guilty about their liaison with references to Howard and Alare’s responsibility to family or spouse, respectively.
12. Both couples close with the idea that they will continue on as before.
13. Both Howard and Alare make a small gesture of communication in parting.
Howard says, “I could not stand for there to be an end of you and me.”
The narrator indicates that Alare says, “She could not wait for things to return to normal.”
14. In both stories, the lover indicates a separation will occur if money isn’t exchanged.
In Munro, the whole situation is intensified when Corrie mentions going to the police.
15. In both stories, there is a kind of vow taken.

16. The next short section in Munro disposes of Sadie – how she’s unlikely to be seen by either Corrie or Howard. A puzzling half paragraph ends the short section on how the town had gone “downhill”. Attention is given to a furniture store that is full of stuff but closed until “the owner die[s].” That appears to reinforce the idea that things will stay the same now.
There is a mention of a “convenience store”, probably to emphasize that Corrie is Howard’s drive-up sexual convenience and his ATM as well.
This idea is picked up in “Benji” by the fact that Benji has opened a convenience store, perhaps to suggest that Benji is Alare’s convenience store.
17. Both Benji and Corrie branch out.
Benji, as mentioned, opens a convenience store nearby in a rundown “shack”. He spends a lot of time there
Corrie started up a museum in the building where her father had once had his shoe factory. She feels satisfied with her effort.
18. Both relationships change.
Howard starts spending longer periods of time at Corrie’s house.
Alare starts working for Benji at the convenience store.
Benji and Alare use the addition to the convenience store as a place to meet.
It is as if Corrie and Benji are experimenting with cooperative relationships and nesting.
19. Both Howard and Alare are gone for extended periods. Howard takes his wife to Spain; Alare takes her husband to England for medical treatment.
20. Both Corrie and Benji feel more attached to their lover than ever.
“Sometimes Corrie would fill up with tears, hiding her face against him. // It’s just we’re so lucky.”
Benji thinks to himself: “He felt her absence more this time. But he did his best to busy himself with the store.”
Alare allows her eyes “to fill up with tears as she told him what a wonderful man he was.”
21. Both couples have the experience of a long relationship.
22. Both Benji and Corrie develop new interests. Corrie takes up working at the town library. Benji takes up painting.
23. Both Howard and Alare are somewhat threatened by these new interests.
“Howard was somewhat dismayed by the change in her life.”
“[Alare] was disheartened by this new undertaking.
24. Threatened, both Howard and Alare change their behavior.
Alare says that her husband will not be needing medical treatments for the time being.
Howard begins to take Corrie on little trips.
25. Both Corrie and Benji have the sense that something is a little off about the long-con-story.
Benji notices (approvingly?) that Alare has gained weight since they met. She was “Not shedding kilos like a person under the stress of dealing with a sick husband.”
On their trips, Corrie and Howard never meet anyone who recognizes Howard.
26. The Long Con Ends; at least in its first form.
Sadie dies. Through a series of realizations, Corrie realizes that there had never been a post box and that Howard had been pocketing the money.
Godwin quits his job with Benji. There is now a question about the delivery of Alare’s money. They agree Benji will give it directly to her. Benji makes the mistake of going to her house. He recognizes Alare and Godwin, sees them kissing.
27. Both Corrie and Benji go through a process of upheaval during one overnight and morning. Corrie realizes that Howard has been pocketing the money. Benji realizes that Godwin is Alare’s husband and he has been double-conned. .
Corrie first has to reject three attempts at writing a letter to Howard. She has to work out the timing of the payments and Sadie’s death.
Benji imagines, more than once, confronting Alare and Godwin . He realizes that their fancy house and cars were what he had paid for, not medicines or trips abroad to doctors.
28. The upheaval continues into the morning.
Benji awakes, having slept all night in a wicker chair, and he “rose angrily.” Anger, for Benji, is a new emotion, and probably a good one. He wants to “spew all the blackness on them” in a confrontation at their house. The he considers what he will lose. “[Alare] was to him what money was to her.
29. After a night of realization, Both Corrie and Benji eat breakfast.
The difference is that Corrie has been through an earthquake. There is “a cavity” anywhere she looks in the house.
Benji, in contrast feels darkness all around him.” Cavity is more powerful, with its suggestion of tomb, decay, emptiness, and excavation.
30. Both realize they still have options.
Corrie realizes, “she is capable, still, of shaping up another possibility.”
Benji thinks: “…the thought occurred to him. Was that what he really wanted?”
31. Both Corrie and Benji decide to proceed as if nothing had happened.
Corrie: “And after all, if what they had –what they have—demands payment, she is the one who can afford to pay.”
Benji: “Well, he had not found a wife for himself. But Alare was certainly the next best thing, and so she was at stake for him.
32. The biggest difference in the two stories is that Benji feels confident in the last paragraph of the story. He will show that “today [is] just another ordinary day. Corrie, on the other hand, enters the kitchen “gingerly”. She moves ‘gingerly” because she must make the superhuman effort to “[make] everything fit into its proper place.

Sorry — obvious typo above I meant “straight after Corrie was published.”

No! she’s no literary fraud. The story was intended as a homage. Get over it.

Ridiculous interview. So now it’s a study of Munro? Please. She’s making a laughing stock of the TNY.

As someone more experienced with maths forums than literary forums, I find it interesting that this forum, and Cliff Garstang’s forum, are far more focused and less prone to wild divergence than the maths forums I’ve visited, where discussions are far more digressive. I think that if you asked a random person, they would guess (completely wrongly) that maths people tend to be logical and analytical, and literary people are more creative and eccentric, so that literary discussions would be more digressive.

Now I’m going to digress a bit, and that paragraph was a preamble to make a poor excuse for the forthcoming digression.

This has been part of a discussion on the question of literary influences. I remember an undergraduate creative writing class that I took 19 years ago. One of the student’s poems copied T.S. Eliot’s style extremely closely — it seemed the student was trying to copy the style. Of course, this is something to be commended at undergraduate level. The writer was sitting next to me and making notes as we discussed it. The Eliot influence came up, of course, and I saw him make his note “Eliot influenced.”

I’m sure that this is unreasonable of me, but at that point, I felt very disillusioned and that he was being completely pretentious. Surely, there was no reason to note that it was Eliot influenced because it was so utterly obvious. I felt like he was trying to pretend, at some level, that the influence was so subtle that it had to be noted in writing.

Paul Epstein

I agree with Betsy that Englander’s and Moore’s versions are the way to go – because they are honest. The fact that Munro was not mentioned in the Q&A or anywhere else is what makes me completely uninterested in the question of what intent lies behind “Benji”. Nathan Englander made it abundantly clear that he was paying homage. Okparanta’s take was more like, “Well, if anyone notices, I’ll say it was homage. If not, then all the better.” That is deception.

As a fellow writer and MFA graduate, I can tell you that modeling a story after a story of an admired famous person happens all the time, both in MFA programs and in publication. In music, art, poetry, fiction…modeling and homages are common enough to be a pretty standard practice.

This is irrelevant. No one here is disputing this. We all know that homages, tributes, models, conversations, etc. are common, for better and for worse. We also know that rip-offs are.

There is a line, and many people feel that Okparanta crossed it with this story. You say “there is nothing here to call plagiarism,” but you don’t respond to the pages of comments that point out exactly what might be considered plagiarism.

We also dispute this:

Chinelo Okparanta has been forthcoming about her appreciation of Alice Munroe all along.

There is no evidence of this, leaving many of us to assume bad faith.

Steven, I offer my admiration to you for your gallant loyalty to Okparanta.
It is always important that someone, be they a bystander or a friend, speak on behalf of a person whose work is questioned.

As for whether I think Okparanta’s story is “same thing” or works in the same way as Moore’s and Englander’s, I cannot say until I’ve done the reading.

I plan to read all four stories (Moore and Nabokov, and Carver and Englander) carefully. Two I have read before, two I have not. It will take me a while to process each story.

It will then take me time to think through how the writing in Englander and Moore is determined or affected by the original story by Carver or Nabokov, and whether they have simply reproduced the story or whether they have created something which is inspired by Nabokov and Carver, but substantially different and essentially new.

Then I will consider in what way Okparanta’s writing process is similar or different to theirs.

I would welcome it if you did the same.

After all, what I think is simply what only I think.

I do not dismiss your assertion that what Okparanta has done is the same as what Englander and Moore did, but I want to do the reading myself.

I am not “neglecting” this issue. It takes time to do the reading. And it takes me time to actually understand what I have read, especially if the questions regarding the reading are complicated and serious.

So it will be a while.

Betsy, I just read the similarities and differences you pointed out. They are on point but I completely disagree with your opinion that Moore and Englander’s stories are the way to go. What rules did Okparanta break in her homage? The Lorrie Moore story is very similar to Nabokov’s: the only difference is that the couple are able to see their son in the hospital, unlike the couple in “Symbols and Signs.” The answer to your question is in Okparanta’s response to TNY: “I was working on a story about a poor couple in Nigeria who created an illness plot in order to get money from a rich, unmarried, pale-skinned short man. After reading “Corrie,” I wanted “Benji” to work as an homage to Munro regarding the parallel plot/structure points, but with different sociocultural contexts, in a way that gave rise to, I hope, a wholly new story.”

Steven, to me, a reader, “Benji” is not “a wholly new story.” From beginning to end, the writer appears to be working directly from Munro’s manuscript. In several places words are used verbatim. I agree with Trevor. Okparanta has crossed a line.

As for Moore and Englander, I have no opinion until I have reread the stories. Perhaps that was not clear. I will do it, but in time.

Munro is the Nobel winner. Hers is the work I need to read now.

My argument is still not being responded to. Let me repost it a THIRD time!

“If Okparanta thought her “homage” was acceptable, she would have been forthright about it. Because she was not forthright, we know that she herself did not think it was acceptable. We know she was not forthright because too many people, including the new yorker, discussed the story without knowing that it was paying homage to anything/any one, much less who or what that thing was. Passing on another’s work as your own is plagiarism.”

I don’t care what she said after the initial publication and interview. She is only pointing it out AFTER it was caught! There simply was not enough done to show that the story was an homage, or more people would have noticed. Not only did TNY not notice, no blog on the internet had noticed it. Plain and simple, Okparanta did not want people to know there was an “original,” or we all would have known from the start instead of “finding out.” I don’t care if YOU think its okay; SHE does not! If a criminal takes the stand and says “I would never hurt anyone!” do you take him on his word? Of course not. This is because actions speak louder than words.

Mark said “The reason none of her personally affiliated supporters or anonymous bystanding defenders – as nice and good people as they may be – are addressing things factually or responding to Ethan’s argument cogently is because they each do not want to look closely at the timeline of events..”

As I said previously, I don’t defend Okparanta in the sense of saying she hasn’t made any mistake but I can’t really support the aggressive reaction to her. Rather than demanding an investigation, readers could simply comment on the lack of originality etc.

Speaking for myself, the reason I don’t respond to the timelines etc. by Ethan and Betsy is that I don’t particularly disagree with anything they’ve said.

Not sure whether or not Mark had myself in mind or not.

Paul Epstein

Where I think this conversation goes awry is the assigning of intention. All the serious criticism on this blog stems from an assumption that Ms. Okparanta’s intention was somehow to defraud the New Yorker and its readers–and Ms. Munro. There are a few things I know: One is that the New Yorker and its readers are a very savvy group, not to mention Ms. Alice Munro, and Ms. Okparanta is not a stupid woman. If her intention was to pull a fast one, this is hardly the venue in which to do it, nor the audience to do it to. Another thing I know is that Ms. Okparanta’s agent is extremely well-known and well-read. Again–hardly a person to be fooled. So once we move past the assumption (which seems to be oddly personal in nature at times) of guilt, most of what is being slung here doesn’t stick.

Alternative scenario: Ms. Okparanta told the New Yorker and her agent that the story was modeled after the Munro story; neither her agent nor the magazine thought it was a problem. The story went forward. There were accusations. All concerned decided there should be clarification. End.

The New Yorker would hardly risk alienating someone like Alice Munro, would they? Even if they love Okparanta, wouldn’t they side quickly with Munro if there had been any intentional wrongdoing?

Archer,

It’s clear that not mentioning the connection in the Q & A was a mistake. Emily’s whole point is that we don’t know who made the mistake or how it was made, so we shouldn’t be ascribing guilt to individuals.

There are quite literally millions of ways the mistake could have happened. For example, maybe the updated Q and A should have been part of the original Q & A but a mistake was made by the team (or person) running the New Yorker website.

I know people will object that the New Yorker should have said exactly how the mistake was made but, in the corporate world, no one wants to point the finger at an individual when a mistake happens — there’s a doctrine of joint responsibility.

Paul Epstein

Can Chinelo Okparanta claim that what she has done with “Corrie” is similar to what Nathan Englander did with “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” and therefore legitimate? No.

Whether Nathan Englander’s riff on Raymond Carver’s story is original or ethical is hardly a question. The Englander story is so profoundly different and imaginative that finding the similarities between the two stories is the problem, not finding the differences. At every point, Englander diverges.

Yes, the titles are so similar it’s hard to miss the homage. But the leap, and I mean leap, to Anne Frank is hard to miss as a startling difference.
Yes, both start with the same phrase – to think something “gives them the right” to go on at length, to lecture. But immediately, the two people doing the lecturing are completely different, and no carbon copy in any way. Carver’s Mel is a divorced cardiologist and a surgeon, while Englander’s Mark is a convert to Hasidism, an American immigrant in Israel, a father of ten, and a long-married businessman.

Religion plays a part in both stories, but in Carver it is the 5 years in seminary that makes Mel yearn for a “spiritual love”, while in Englander, Mark’s years in the yeshiva lead to him converting to Hasidism and emigrating to Israel. Mark’s is not a split history; his history is of a piece.

Yes, there are two couples who get together and get very high. But the substances they are using, gin and pot, are topics of conversation and topics of the plot in Englander, while not so at all in the Carver.

Denial, regarding drinking and drugs, is important in both stories, but in Carver, it is left to the reader to imagine how this drinking is affecting the surgeon’s skills. In Englander, the question is developed: Debbie wonders about her early drug use and her memory; Mark mentions that Israelis smoke a lot of pot – although this seems so wild that perhaps it’s part of his denial; Lauren says her children don’t know anting about their drug use; Mark and Lauren deny (laughably) that their drug use has nothing to do with Hasidism; Debbie knows that her son, who has slept until 3, is using pot, but she’s kept it from her husband.

And both stories revolve around memory: in Carver, Mel cannot let go of his first wife. In Englander, neither Mark nor Debbie can let go of the holocaust. In Englander, there is also the suggestion of long held secrets, while in Carver, secrets are not the issue. What matters to this discussion is that Englander widens and develops this topic. Both stories are about memory, but the Carver memories are more like grudges. In Englander, Debbie is compelled to remember the holocaust, and what she is trying to remember is 6 million stories. Mark encounters a specific long memory in his father’s Palm Beach locker room: the fact that so-and-so “cut”. But then, we know that the speaker probably cut, too, in one way or another. Memory is vast in Englander, and it is also in danger, given that Debbie thinks quite a bit about whether she is losing her memory due to her early drug use.

And both are about betrayal. But Carver’s story is domestic in scope, while Englander’s embraces the world and history. Carver’s Terri betrays Mel by having an affair with him while he’s still married and separating him from his children. Carver’s Terri betrays her beloved by using him to escape from a batterer. Carver’s Terri betrays Mel by clinging to how much the batterer loved her. Carver’s Mel betrays his Monday’s patients by indulging in a Sunday gin-binge. Carver’s Mel betrays Terri with his still passionate involvement with his wife. These are betrayals of domesticity.

The betrayals in Englander have vast, historic roots and a world-wide setting. Mark and Lauren convert to a medieval form of Judaism. They emigrate to Israel. Mark speaks about betrayals to Judaism by the people who marry out. Mark’s parents survive the holocaust – but the other 6 million die. Mark’s father goes to a club where there is another member with a tattoo on his arm separating him from Mark’s father by only 2 digits. They hardly speak. “You cut”, says the father to the man. There is that sense that if you are going to survive a holocaust, the only way is that you put yourself first, even if it’s only in accepting being saved by another. So when the Englander couples play the “Anne Frank game”, the startled Mark reveals by his silence he probably wouldn’t hide his wife. He cannot imagine not surviving. Even in a game, his first thought is not altruistic. To a degree, this posture is determined by the history Mark and his family has lived. But in no way is this merely a domestic betrayal.

Structurally, the stories differ enormously even though they are both told in the first person: Carver’s story is basically Mel’s harangue, his monologue and story of his life; Englander’s story is a complicated dance of interaction between 2 couples, or between 3 people and an onlooker, and the story is told in the action of the here and now.

Structurally, also, the Englander story is darkly funny throughout in a variety of ways, whereas the Carver story is not funny at all.

In addition, structurally, the narrator in Carver’s story is an innocent in love with his wife, still content to be in the honeymoon of it all. In Englander, the narrator is a man who loves his wife, but finds himself very unsettled by finding out his wife was once a stoner, and that she knows their son has pot and hasn’t told him.

Finally, In Carver, the innocent couple finds the strange marriage of their friends revealed – a marriage that is tormented by the fact the husband can’t let go of his wife. In Englander, it is an unknowing wife who finds her husband revealed. In the event of a holocaust, her husband would save himself first.

Carver’s story has no relation to history or the wider world. Englander’s is determined by genocide.

The real question about these two stories is why did Englander tie his story to Carver’s? Was he attempting to shine in Carver’s reflected glory? Was he attempting to announce himself as ‘the new Carver’? Was he attempting to displace Carver? No, no, and no, I think.

Englander mentions in his interview with Page-Turner that he was taken with the idea of two couples drinking in a kitchen. It may have been that frame that appealed must to Englander. Talking about how hard writing is, he talks about the push that having that frame gave him.

Beyond the frame, the stories are vastly different. To a degree, Carver’s story is sentimental, because it imagines the possibility of an ideal marriage in Nick and Laura. To a degree, Englander’s story is brutal, because it pits love against survival.

Chinelo Okparanta’s “Benji” cannot be put in the same category as Nathan Englander’s ‘Talk About’ story.

The Englander plot is wildly original, argumentative, creative, stunning, upsetting and thought provoking. The Okparanta plot is all that, but it isn’t her plot. In this case, it is Munro who is the author of the wildly original, argumentative, creative, stunning, upsetting and thought provoking story.

The manner in which Englander is “in conversation” with Carver is also genuine. While Carver is showing that marriages have layers of grudges, memories, and desire, he is also lauding the simple virtues of a marriage devoted to demonstrations of simple affections. Englander is saying that marriages live in the world and in the history that created them. Englander is not topping Carver, he’s talking with him. He’s saying, consider this. The reader considers the marriages in the one story and then the other and then back again. The reader considers memory in the one story and then the other and then back again. The same with history, and the same with cultural circumstance and the same with religion.

Nothing of this complexity happens when I read “Corrie” and then “Benji”. The reason for that is the “conversation” between the two stories is not conversation but – which is the right word here? – Re-telling? Retailing? Copying?

I wonder if Nathan Englander ever did a copy of another writer’s story in his life. Most likely not. I sense that this kind of exercise is useful with students who lack either experience, talent, or confidence. Such exercises may be useful training for screenwriters. There is, I know, an Oscar for “Best adapted screenplay”.

Okparanta cannot cite Nathan Englander’s story as legitimizing what she has done. Neither can the New Yorker.

Finally, there is the word “template”. Englander’s editor, Cressida Leyshon suggests that Englander has used the Carver story as a template. Englander replies in the emphatic negative.

“And I didn’t let myself revisit Carver’s masterpiece until I was well into the writing. I say that because you ask about templates, and I guess the model I wanted to use was the one based not on the manuscript version of Carver’s story, but on what the story had turned into with time. I first wanted to work with the picture that had formed over the years and turned into memory, this sort of faceless visual of two couples at a table with a bottle between them, talking as a day slipped by. Only later did I go back and open Carver’s collection and decide that I wanted to give my story that same entrance, to really bind those worlds, with the narrator saying, “and people from there think it gives them the right.”
http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2011/12/this-week-in-fiction-nathan-englander.html

He does goes on to say that starting with four characters in a kitchen and a bottle of gin was helpful.

But any reader can see he was not sitting with a copy of Carver’s story at his elbow.

The differences between the Englander and Carver stories are profound and compelling.

The differences between the Okparanta story and its Munro original are slight and undeveloped.

So when you talk to me about Chinelo Okparanta’s “Benji”, don’t talk to me about Nathan Englander’s riff on Raymond Carver. The comparison can’t be made.

Well done, once again, avataram —
How did you happen to discover this?

The Yiyun Li quote comes from the Guardian link in my previous comment – I was searching for the “This Week in Fiction” for her TNY story, but wasnt there a time when TNY diidnt do interviews with authors? Maybe this is from such a time.

Sorry, I meant to write “was modeled on” rather than “is in modeled on”.

Just read the William Trevor and the Yiyun Li stories again. The Trevor story is about three people – father, daughter and a man who hopes to marry the daughter. The Li story is about three people- mother, son and and a girl the mother is trying to get her son to marry. There are gender switches and the location has moved from Ireland to Beijing, China. The parent is in his/her 70s, the kids and their suitors in their late 30s/early 40s.

But very different stories – apart from these common elements, the stories are entirely different. If Li had not mentioned the connection, I am not sure anyone would have detected it – and I think TNY/its readers didnt make the connection, as the Trevor story was not mentioned in the 2008 issue when Li’s story was published. (I will have to look up the original print issue to confirm). The Guardian recording is from December 2012.

It would be unfair only if Yiyun Li had (a) done a line-by-line mimickry; and (b) refused to acknowledge having done so.

Yiyun Li is an amazing writer, by the way. A Thousand Years of Good Prayers and Gold Boy, Emerald Girl, are outstanding short story collections.

I agree with avataram that “Good Boy, Emerald Girl” is a much more successful example of “homage”. Now that she mentions it, one can see how the William Trevor story served as inspiration, but Li’s work is distinct enough to stand on its own. I find “Benji” a different case. As has been noted, it’s evident Okparanta closely modelled her story on Munro’s, replicating plot points and specific details down to the letter. I think this goes beyond having a “conversation” with “Corrie”. It is essentially a retelling, with certain variations. Some may find this acceptable. Others clearly do not, especially since, without the updated Q&A, it appeared that Okparanta was trying to pass this off as her own creation.

I find it curious and ironic that defenders of “Benji” have largely refused to engage with the text. I’ve seen critics of the story accused of having a grudge against the author and not understanding the concept of appropriation. I’ve seen it suggested that Munro’s story is not all that original itself. We’ve been called “bullies” and told to “get over it”. But I haven’t seen the kind of line-by-line, sentence-by-sentence analysis of both stories that Betsy and Ethan have gone to the trouble of doing. (I don’t mean to lump all defenders of “Benji” together — Paul Epstein, for one, has kept a civil and measured tone — but this has been the gist of it.)

This isn’t a witch hunt, and I don’t think anyone has come to these conclusions lightly. If this was all just a giant misunderstanding and we’re completely off-base, it wouldn’t take much for TNY to clarify things. Their silence speaks volumes.

Paul E., I don’t think the framework you describe is really what is going on when we read and engage with fiction. It suggests that each of us is a prisoner to the particular “culture” or “background” in which we are grounded, that we are limited to a “personal standpoint” that arises from that culture or background. It also suggests that every such “standpoint” is as valid as another. In other words, there is no generally shared understanding of the meaning of concepts like plagiarism and the kind of behavior it represents, only perspectives that are different and equally valid. I don’t actually think you mean this – after all, you’ve posted many times that Okparanta didn’t engage in plagiarism, without qualifying your opinion as one that is valid from your standpoint only.

I’d contend that readers come from varying backgrounds and cultures but that when we read and engage with one another as readers, we do so on the basis of some shared general understandings, such as the meaning of individual words and the existence of certain ethical norms, like plagiarism and its dishonesty. The very acts of reading and discussion presuppose a common language. And one of the virtues of reading and discussing fiction is to stretch one’s limits so as not to dwell only in our own respective cultures and backgrounds.

As for Okparanta, surely she doesn’t avoid responsibility for plagiarism merely by making the cosmetic changes to Munro’s story that have been documented in this thread.

P.S. – I’m assuming Paul “Epsten” is really Paul Epstein, not an impostor, and that “Epsten” was a typo – not that someone is mimicking the real Paul Epstein!

Thanks for your reply, Roger. This is just a note to confirm that “Paul Epsten” is indeed a typo for myself. The “i” on my keyboard sticks. If the moderator is able to correct the typo, I’d be very grateful.

Paul Epstein

As a Chess aficionado myself, I understand what Paul is saying. In the 4th game of the recent Anand Carlsen world Championship, the first 14 moves were the same as in the game played by Jakovenko-Almasi in 2007. Were the two Grandmasters plagiarizing the moves? Not at all. In the 15th move, Carlsen introduced a novelty and the entire game became different.

The trouble with Okparanta’s “homage” is that nothing is different – the opening, middle game, end game are the same, even the commentary is the same. Only the players’ names are different.

I introduced the Yiyun Li-William Trevor issue here only to show, how the content and the writing style is everything in the story, even if explicit mention of the original story is not made – Trevor (of the blog) made the same point. If one compares Yiyun Li as a Grandmaster playing William Trevor’s games, her opening moves maybe similar, but the middle game and endgame are completely different. It is a genuine homage (and Yiyun Li speaks of her debt to William Trevor in every interview).

I was giving Okparanta points for an original excuse. Now it looks like she has copied the story from Alice Munro, and copied the excuse from Yiyun Li. Nothing original about her at all.

Paul –

I think your definition of plagiarism is too narrow. Consider what Stanford University defines it as:

For purposes of the Stanford University Honor Code, plagiarism is defined as the use, without giving reasonable and appropriate credit to or acknowledging the author or source, of another person’s original work, whether such work is made up of code, formulas, ideas, language, research, strategies, writing or other form(s).”

not to dig up the grave, or whatever expression would fit better, but i just saw that Okparantas story, Fairness, from Subtropics, is going to be included in The O. Henry Prize Stories for 2014. Hm…. Thoughts?