I spent two days at Super Comic City. But an American intellectual property lawyer probably would not have lasted more than 15minutes. After cruising just one or two aisles, he would have thudded to the floor in a dead faint. About 90 percent of the material for sale - how to put this - borrows liberally from existing works. Actually, let me be blunter: The copyright violations are flagrant, shameless, and widespread. For example, in both Japan and the US, one of the past decade's most successful manga series is Fullmetal Alchemist. The story pivots around a group of people with the ability to transmute matter into new substances. The main character is Edward Elric, a young man who possesses these powers. Another character is a father-figure type named Colonel Roy Mustang. At Super Comic City, there were at least 30 tables where amateurs were selling 20- or 30-page stories in which perfectly drawn, instantly recognizable Elrics and Mustangs discover their forbidden love for each other. (In all, 1,100 Full Metal Alchemist dojinshi groups had registered to sell their wares.) In many of these comics, the drawings are so precisely rendered that the characters are indistinguishable from the originals. Some of these tales portray chaste affairs full of yearning and unrealized passion. Others depict sexual encounters grunting and graphic enough to make Larry Flynt blush. Though nobody was merely reproducing existing Fullmetal Alchemist stories, everybody - by swiping the characters without consent and selling the resulting work to others - was trampling intellectual property rights. And Japanese copyright law is just as restrictive as its American cousin, if not more so.

The authors told me they were uncovering hidden potential in their favorite stories - revealing themes, relationships, and plot lines that were gurgling just beneath the surface of the official narrative.

Imagine Disney's response if some huge comics convention in St. Louis or Houston were selling exquisitely rendered, easily identifiable comic book versions of Mickey Mouse and Goofy falling in love.

As recently as a decade ago, he told me, creators of popular commercial works sometimes cracked down on their dojinshi counterparts at Super Comic City. "But these days," he [Keiji Takeda; organizer of Japan's dojinshi gatherings] said, "you don't really hear about that many publishers stopping them."
"Why not?" I asked.
They have an understanding, he said, using a phrase I'd encounter again and again: anmoku no ryokai, meaning essentially "unspoken, implicit agreement."
"The dojinshi are creating a market base, and that market base is naturally drawn to the original work," he said. Then, gesturing to the convention floor, he added, "This is where we're finding the next generation of authors. The publishers understand the value of not destroying that." And as the manga weeklies falter and decline, new talent is more important than ever. Meanwhile, Takeda said, the dojinshi creators honor their part of this silent pact. They tacitly agree not to go too far - to produce work only in limited editions and to avoid selling so many copies that they risk cannibalizing the market for original works. [Japan, Ink: Inside the Manga Industrial Complex]

Die "Böhmische Bibel" ist ein Gemeinschaftsprojekt von Sabine Scholl und Lydia Mischkulnig, das in Japan gestartet wurde und ein open end hat. Die beiden Autorinnen haben dafür eigens das "Tinternational Textunternehmen" gegründet und sind fest entschlossen, weiterzumachen. Sie planen eine "Tinternational"-Webpage und eine Fernsehserie zum Thema "Trennung", denn auch dazu braucht es ZWEI. [Ö1]

TINTERNATIONAL TEXTUNTERNEHMEN wagt die Darstellung des Entstellten, Verzerrten und Entfremdeten. Versucht Disparates zu integrieren, Ordnung durch Erzählung zu verfassen. Künstliche Menschen, Ausländer, Comicsfiguren und Präsidentenhirne, also Transnationale aller Art, bekommen ihren Platz. [Tinternational Textunternehmen, Mission Statement]