THE Steinlaus 鈥� 鈥渟tone louse鈥� in English 鈥� is a rodent-like mite. According to the German medical dictionary Pschyrembel, it can be used to break down bladder, gall bladder and kidney stones. Research into its uses has progressed rapidly since it was first listed in 1983, and homeopaths have adopted it as a remedy.
Hang on a minute. A rodent-like mite? Sound unlikely? That鈥檚 because the Steinlaus doesn鈥檛 exist.
Why would the compilers of a dictionary deliberately include a false entry? The Steinlaus may be an in-joke, but it also serves the function of protecting copyright. Dictionary editors face a problem protecting their work. They invest hugely in compiling lists of facts, which are then easily copied, especially from digital editions. Copyright does not apply to facts, only to the way they are expressed or assembled, and a fictitious entry is the perfect way to detect large-scale unauthorised copying of such a collection. If it turns up in someone else鈥檚 dictionary, that鈥檚 strong evidence of plagiarism.
Advertisement
鈥淎 fictitious entry is the perfect way to detect plagiarism鈥�
Many dictionary compilers use copyright traps. The New Oxford American Dictionary, for example, defines 鈥渆squivalience鈥� as 鈥渢he wilful avoidance of one鈥檚 official responsibilities鈥�. In 2005 the editors confessed that they added it purely as a copyright trap. The word is deliberately badly formed because they were 鈥渢rying to make a word that could not arise in nature鈥�. But ploughing through to result 112 of 51,800 Google search hits turned up the phrase 鈥渆squivalience in the Oval Office鈥�. Even if used for comedic effect, such an expression is likely to result in the word escaping into the wild.
Is it only dictionary compilers who use copyright traps? Computer security people have an equivalent that they call a 鈥渉oneytoken鈥�. To detect the theft of a mailing list, for example, you create a false entry and do not reveal it anywhere else. You could use the name Jakob Maria Mierscheid, a fictitious Social Democrat representing the real town of Morbach in the German parliament, which has listed him in its official directory since 1979. Naturally, he now has a blog.
Map-makers also use copyright traps. In the 1930s, US map-maker General Drafting Company marked the fictitious settlement of Agloe at the intersection of two dirt tracks on its Esso maps of the Catskill Mountains in New York state. Years later Agloe turned up on a map from rivals Rand McNally. Gotcha? Actually, no. Rand McNally managed to prove that the county administration had supplied them with the name. Apparently, reports map collector Ian Byrne from Milton Keynes, UK, 鈥渟omeone built a general store at the intersection and called it Agloe because that鈥檚 what it was marked as on the Esso map鈥�. The fictitious entry had autoreified. In case you were thinking of copying this article, don鈥檛. You might fall into our own copyright trap.