Publishers v. Audible: An Army of Red Herrings

Audible has now filed its response to the publishers’ request for a preliminary injunction—twice. It filed the exact same brief to argue that it shouldn’t be preliminarily enjoined (Dkt. 34) and to argue that the complaint should be dismissed for failure to state a claim (Dkt. 41). Unfortunately for Audible, the repetition of fallacious arguments doesn’t make them true. You may have heard that a group of geese is a “gaggle” and that a group of crows is a “murder.” Groups of animals are often known by somewhat peculiar collective nouns. Perhaps less well-known is that a group of herrings—those foraging fish that favor shallow, temperate seas—is called an “army.” Audible’s response includes so many irrelevant distractions that it can accurately be described as an army of red herrings.

Audible argues that this should be a contract dispute, not a copyright case, and that Captions is nevertheless fair use—no matter who is doing the copying. Indeed, the one thing that Audible apparently wants to avoid discussing in detail is the one thing that I find interesting in this case, namely, who directly causes the various prima facie infringements of the publishers’ rights to occur. Audible’s response makes clear that it would rather jump straight to the fair use analysis without first analyzing exactly who is causing what to occur. But that fair use analysis only makes sense if we know who is doing the copying. The factors would be applied differently to Amazon, Audible, or its users, and Audible’s response elides such distinctions even though they are crucial.

In my last post about this case, I discussed how Audible was likely to cite cases such as Sony and Cablevision in arguing that it doesn’t make the copy, the user does, and that’s fair use. Remarkably, Audible does suggest that the user makes the copy, but it relegates this claim to the preliminary, factual background section of the brief—it’s not actually part of its main argument section. But this does give us some idea of what Audible will argue once it’s forced to clarify its theory of the case. Perhaps most interesting of all, Audible explains how the third-party Amazon Transcribe feature operates within Captions, and it’s less favorable to Audible than I had originally suggested.

Audible explicitly states that “a listener generates Audible Captions.” So that tells us who Audible thinks is doing the copying—and it’s not Audible. There are no citations to any case law, and there’s no explanation of why it’s the user doing the copying. Just the ipse dixit that it’s so. Audible then explains that the transcriptions are not, as I suggested in my last post, simply done in real time via Amazon Transcribe. That may be true in part, but the entire audiobook file is also sent to Amazon where it is converted into text and then sent back to the user. And that entire transcription is then stored on the user’s device, albeit in an encrypted file. Moreover, once one user requests a transcription, a cached copy of the file is then stored for 90 days on the server, and any subsequent user requesting a transcription of the same work in that time frame will get the cached copy—not a new transcription.

This business with the cached copy opens up another can of copyright worms, one that Audible presumably is not looking forward to discussing. Not only is there a full copy of the text on the user’s device, but there’s also another copy on the server. And there’s no doubt that both copies are fixed since there’s no argument that they exist for a mere transitory duration. Furthermore, the fact that the same source copy is being sent to different users destroys any claim under Cablevision that Audible might make that these are not public distributions. The Second Circuit there held that the transmissions weren’t public since there was a unique source copy that was used for each transmission to an individual user. While I don’t see how that holding survives Aereo, the cached copy here takes that argument off of the table.

Audible spills much ink arguing that Captions is not a replacement for the text of the underlying book since the experience with the same text of the transcription is different. For example, unlike an e-book, Captions displays at most 20 words at a time that is synchronized to the audio. And this “audio-first experience” has different punctuation, there are no page numbers, and the user can only scroll through the text by first scrolling through the audio. Of course, it’s true that there are differences between the user experience with Captions and an e-book, but these differences are irrelevant to the publishers’ prima facie copyright claims. Just because the user experiences the work differently doesn’t mean that there hasn’t been all sorts of actionable copying enabling that experience. These differences may be relevant to fair use, but not one of them matters for determining who is doing what.

After throwing its users under the bus by claiming that they make the copies with Captions, Audible sidesteps any actual analysis of that issue by arguing instead that the publishers failed to properly plead their copyright claims. The crux of Audible’s argument is that, since it has license agreements with the publishers to sell and produce audiobooks, the publishers have waived their right to sue for copyright infringement to the extent Audible’s conduct is licensed. Audible then argues that the burden is on the publishers to plead the licenses and conduct that exceeds their scope (or a violation of their conditions precedent) in order to state a copyright claim. And since the publishers didn’t plead any reason why the licenses wouldn’t permit Audible’s copying of the audiobooks, Audible argues that the case against it should be dismissed.

Audible correctly states the law, but not its application here. When the existence of a license is not in question, the copyright owner bears the burden of proving that the alleged infringer exceeded its scope or breached its condition. And Audible is certainly correct in arguing that it is a “licensed, paying user of the audiobooks from and for which it created Audible Captions.” Audible has licenses for the audiobooks, and the publishers didn’t plead them. The fallacy of this argument, however, is that the publishers’ copyright claims are not directed to those audiobook licenses—or even to those audiobooks. The publishers only claim infringement of the underlying works, that is, the literary works from which the sound recordings of the audiobooks are derived. Audible is probably violating various rights in the audiobooks as well, but the publishers have not brought those claims.

That the publishers are suing over the original books, and not the derivative audiobooks, is clear from the face of the complaint. The publishers charge Audible with “unlawfully creating derivative works of, reproducing, distributing, and publicly displaying unauthorized copies of the Works,” and the works identified are the registered, literary works of which the publishers are legal or beneficial owners. The complaint explicitly alleges that “Audible did not seek a license for the creation and provision of the transcriptions provided to consumers” and that “it has only been authorized to deliver the work in audiobook format.” If Audible turned an audiobook into a movie, the publishers would not have to plead that Audible thus exceeded the scope of its license for the simple reason that there was no such license to create the derivative movie in the first place.

The fact that the allegedly infringing transcriptions have as their source the licensed audiobooks doesn’t matter; what matters is that the transcriptions violate the publishers’ rights in the underlying literary works. For the bulk of audiobooks at issue that Audible didn’t create, i.e., the ones that were provided by the publishers or third parties, Audible had no license to create derivative works of any kind. And for the few audiobooks that Audible itself may have created under license—though Audible noticeably doesn’t claim to have a license to create derivatives of any of the specific works-in-suit—it only had a license to create the derivative sound recordings embodied in the audiobooks. Audible’s hand-waving about licenses is easily dismissed because, quite simply, there was never any license to create the derivative literary works over which it is being sued.

Despite the army of red herrings summoned to obfuscate its theory of exactly who is doing the copying in this case, the burden falls squarely on Audible to establish the existence of any license that may justify its actions. And the fact that Audible failed to mention any such license speaks volumes. Audible instead jumps straight to fair use, making the incredible claim that providing the text of the audiobook is somehow completely different than providing the text of the underlying book itself because the former allows users to “understand and engage with the audiobook they purchased.” I’ll leave the absurdity of Audible’s fair use argument for another day, but for now I’d like the court to sort out the preliminary issue of who is doing what. And that appears to be a conversation that Audible would rather not have.