Jenny Kim / Inside Higher Ed
Not long ago, I queried a dozen or so literary agents. Seven offered to represent me, though one of those seven told me to put my book proposal in a drawer. That’s the agent I signed with.
Some context: I’m a midcareer mathematician who earlier earned tenure and subsequently left academia to write full-time. This longtime dream was made possible by the momentum of my public scholarship and my first book, How to Free Your Inner Mathematician (Oxford University Press, 2020). Throughout, I’ve maintained a nerd-like focus on fun, which explains my recent efforts to land a math book deal with a commercial publisher.
Following a fellowship year at Columbia University, I spent a summer drafting a 44-page book proposal on AI and computer science education, a subspecialty I developed as editors increasingly sought my comment on math-related technology. The proposed book, Computer Science, Safety Optional: Higher Education’s Unchecked Tech Optimism, asked whether universities are teaching the next generation of technologists to prioritize the public interest. My evidence suggested they largely aren’t.
All seven of the agents who offered representation called the book important, if a bit niche. Six of those agents wanted to take the computer science proposal to commercial publishers first, then work with me on a math book down the line. One agent—Marissa Koors at Curious Minds—urged me to set my computer science book proposal aside and develop a book grounded more directly in mathematics, for a much broader audience. That was a risky pivot: more work before I could even submit to publishers. I signed with Marissa.
I drafted a new proposal, How Math Will Save Your Life, which she edited with care. When she submitted it, the proposal went to auction, meaning multiple publishers bid on acquiring my book’s North American rights. Marissa then orchestrated a competitive bidding process, and I was able to select the best financial deal and publishing partner. In North America, I was thrilled to sign with W. W. Norton. That buzz drew the attention of publishers in other regions, and I’ve since signed with publishers that will distribute my book in the U.K. territories, Japan and China—all based on the book proposal. Each deal offered not only greater reach for my book, but an advance that would allow dedicated time for research and writing.
Here, Marissa and I unpack how our collaboration unfolded. This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
TPS: What about my original proposal gave you pause, and what convinced you that I should pursue a different kind of book instead?
MK: My first reaction was that this is someone who has demonstrated she can write for the public and now wants to reach a wider trade readership. Then I asked: Is this project likely to get her there? My hunch was that the readership would be small and limited to those interested in higher education. I also questioned whether it was ideal for your trade book debut.
Some people mistake an agent or editor’s rejection of a proposal as a judgment about the merit of the idea. That’s not always the case. It’s really about whether the idea is something that will appeal to a wide readership—convincing them to spend their time, money and attention on that book. For that, you want the broadest possible sweep.
Q: When we first spoke, I initially thought, “This is going to be a lot more work.” At the same time: “She wants me to write the book I really want to write.” My initial book idea was low-hanging fruit; I had just spent a fellowship year researching it. But it wasn’t what drove my whole career.
A: That told me a lot, Susan. The agent-author relationship is about fit. An agent is an interlocutor as well as a critic, and how an author responds to criticism tells me whether I’m the right agent for them.
Q: The other agents who offered representation expressed the same reservation you did—that my initial book idea was too niche. But they all said, “Sure, we’ll publish this niche book first, and let’s talk about a math one up next.” In your experience, how much does a first book shape an author’s long-term readership and opportunities?
A: Quite significantly. Your first book establishes your sales track. On subsequent proposals, editors refer back to that sales history, and a subpar track makes the next deal a much higher hill to climb. You might have landed the computer science book, but the sales track likely wouldn’t have encouraged future deals.
Thinking about the broadest possible book is counter to how academics are trained—you hyperspecialize because you have to say something unique. Publishing for a wider readership means unlearning some of that instinct—preserving it in your angle and the research, but tapping into something intelligent, general readers care about.
Q: So, a scholar hoping to publish their trade book debut should seek more than a simple yes from a literary agent. What should they be listening for beyond that?
A: Look at the questions the agent asks. Are they prompting you to think more deeply or differently about your material? Or are they comprehension questions you can answer with a yes or no? That tells a lot about the feedback you’ll get.
If the agent has a competing vision for your book, you may be tempted to try to convince the agent that you’re right. But a competing vision can show an author a new path through to their original vision. A simple yes actually precludes the higher vista for the book that often arises from a productive author-agent dialogue.
Q: What are signs that a scholar has found the right first trade book idea, as opposed to one that’s important but ultimately limited in its reach?
A: First, have a track record of speaking to the public already. An academic who decides their first foray into public communication should be a nonfiction trade book is not going to get anywhere. It could be a Substack audience or op-eds—and they don’t need to start by publishing in The Atlantic or The Guardian. Work up to those outlets and gradually build your public profile.
Second, look at your own research objectively and trace its trajectory toward the book you want to write. That’s what editors do on the other side of the table. They look at your research, your public-facing work and how the book idea has grown from it. That’s what establishes your authority.
Third, think about whether what you want to say is something readers actually want to read. Lara Heimert, longtime president and publisher of Basic Books, once told me to think about what people like. They like bicycles; publish a history of bicycles. They like chocolate; publish something about the science of chocolate. There’s wisdom in that.
A trade book should also focus on an idea that feels counterintuitive. If a reader already accepts the premise, why would they need to buy it? You want to convince a reader this is something they haven’t heard before.
Q: What makes an intelligent, general reader care about an idea or an argument that may be just beyond their comfort zone?
A: The best books are where the tension between storytelling and the propulsion of important arguments and ideas are aligned. The story supports the ideas, and the construction of the ideas supports the storytelling. Stories bring people into a book and create its impact.
Many authors hope for their books to have an impact, but many books never reach a wide readership. The difference is often in how well the book engages with the lived experiences of people. The more you can bring the level of intellect down to the level of emotion, that’s where you really can achieve something powerful and lasting.
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