In the course of writing this book, I reached out to several people at various stages of writing for information and assistance. In particular, as the book neared completion, I reached out directly to the people I had written about, offering advance copies so they could fact-check and see if they felt they were being portrayed fairly. I did this purely as a professional courtesy because I want everyone to come off accurately and be treated fairly. Almost everyone I reached out to was at least cordial and professional, even if they declined to participate. Except one.
I didn’t try to contact Sho Kosugi for an interview during the writing process because I didn’t really need to. His life and career are pretty thoroughly documented and publicly available with a little bit of digging. I decided to wait until I had it written and then just reach out as a courtesy to see if he had anything to add or any feedback. I had back channels to contact Sho through some of the people I had developed relationships with, but I reached out to him through his agent because that’s just the right way to do things. People have agents for a reason: they don’t want to deal with certain things themselves, and it would be both unprofessional and inconsiderate to ignore their wishes by going around that structure. So I reached out to Sho’s agent with a cordial email, introducing myself, explaining what I was doing, and offering his client a chance to have some input before the book went to press.
Most agents, when presented with that proposition, would have some questions about the book to determine whether it was going to be good or bad for the client. A really good agent would have asked to read it for himself first thing in order to understand what he was dealing with. Not this guy. Not a single question. He couldn’t have cared less what was in the book. He immediately started demanding money in exchange for access to Sho, as if I was going to somehow profit from my offer. He demanded an honorarium for Sho’s time, which I really had no problem with, even though it was going to come straight out of my pocket with no return. I was willing to make a goodwill gesture to have his participation, even if it cost me a few bucks. I offered $500, which I thought was fair considering I was the one doing them a favor.
Suddenly and without explanation, the demand shot up to $2,000, and it was no longer an honorarium. He said, “You’re basically asking Sho to read a script.” No, I wasn’t asking him to read a script. A script is a bilateral business proposition where both parties stand to profit if it works out. Unilaterally offering to let him see how he was being portrayed wasn’t going to sell a single extra copy of my book. There was nothing in it for me except the knowledge that I had done the right thing by reaching out. I was extending a professional courtesy, and this guy didn’t seem to understand that. He acted like I was going to make money by letting them see it.
In addition to demanding money, he also wanted me to agree to let him handle the book’s publication as a condition of the deal. He said – quite arrogantly and rudely – he represented “the number-one literary agent in the world,” and that he could guarantee me a publishing deal. Well, first of all, anyone who claims they can guarantee a publishing deal should immediately be viewed with skepticism, because that isn’t how this works. An agent, no matter how well-connected, has to shop it around to publishers and find one that’s interested. If nobody is interested, there’s no deal. He was clearly making access to Sho contingent on agreeing to publish through him, but he wouldn’t provide any details of the proposal for me to consider. Every time I asked for more information about who this “super agent” was or how he could guarantee a publishing deal, this guy became rude, combative, and evasive. He said I was “insulting his intelligence” by asking those types of questions. I was beginning to think it might not be possible to insult his intelligence.
So this supposed “agent” wanted me to fork over thousands of dollars AND the publishing rights to my book, sight unseen, without having a clue who I was doing business with or what I’d get in return. This guy was clearly out of his fucking mind if he thought I was going to agree to that. But I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. After a few days of back-and-forth, I finally said, “Can we schedule a call to discuss?” He said, “Perfect. I’ll send a Zoom link later.”
So an hour before the agreed time, I still hadn’t received a Zoom link. I emailed him, saying that I must have missed it and asking if he could send it again, knowing full well that I hadn’t missed it. I thought this guy couldn’t surprise me any more than he had, but he did. He emailed me back, saying, “There’s no call. We don’t work for free. When you figure out your budget, get back to me.”
I’m sorry, what? That’s what the call was supposed to be about. I was apoplectic by this point, but I remained professional. I clearly wasn’t going to be able to do business with this guy, and it was time to cut bait. I emailed him back, saying that I was going to have to proceed without his client’s cooperation because I didn’t need it, and that if Sho felt anything in the book was inaccurate or unfair, he would need to take it up with his agent because I had done my part. Suddenly, he became very anxious to talk. Within minutes, I got an email saying, “I’m sending you a Zoom link.” Then, a few minutes later, I got another one saying, “You didn’t show for the meeting.” Yes, because there was no meeting to show up for. Sending me an unsolicited Zoom link doesn’t mean we have a meeting. I had already severed ties, and I was done with him.
He was clearly becoming very nervous about the situation and kept emailing me, which made me wonder whether he had been forthcoming with his client about my proposition. So I decided to shake the tree a little and see what fell out. I reminded him that I was on solid legal ground because, under the law of agency, anything he does on behalf of his client is binding when he acts within the scope of his authority, or his apparent authority. I didn’t need Sho Kosugi’s cooperation because my book was thoroughly sourced, and I can defend anything in it. I also didn’t need a publishing agreement, because I didn’t need the money – I was writing because I wanted to, not because I thought I was going to get rich. I had established an email trail proving that I offered Sho Kosugi (via his legal agent) an opportunity to have meaningful input, and he had effectively declined, thereby waiving any right to complain later. There was nothing in the book that I thought Sho would object to, and I wouldn’t have offered to let him read it if there were. But that wasn’t the point. I was just watching him squirm now and waiting to see if a new offer might be forthcoming.
Then I messed up. He made a fairly specific threat, and my personality is such that threatening me is never a good idea. In a moment of weakness, I gave up the high ground and let my anger get the better of me. I let this guy drag me into the mud, and I sent him a super nasty email that I wish I hadn’t. It was a long, absolutely brutal takedown that outlined his failings as an agent, a professional, and a human being. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, but I still wish I had maintained the high road and not sent it. I should have just let it go. But the simple fact is that if this guy had treated somebody else with less respect for Sho’s legacy the way he treated me, he could have very easily turned an even-handed treatment into a hit piece against his client. He was very lucky that it was me this time, because I’m better than that. But the next person he does that to might not be, and might do more than just send him a nasty email.
To be absolutely clear, I don’t hold Sho Kosugi responsible for any of this, and I would never change my portrayal of him – or anyone else – just because his agent is an unprofessional dick. If Sho ever decides he wants to talk, the door is open as far as I’m concerned. It’s just a shame that I have to go to press without his cooperation because he’s such a huge part of the story, and it really didn’t have to be this way.