What Makes a Great Book Proposal? A Literary Agent Explains

For scholars hoping to share their expertise in a book that reaches audiences far beyond the Ivory Tower, the journey often begins with a one-page query letter and a detailed book proposal, both designed to convince a literary agent that your idea deserves a place in public conversations. 

The querying process has two essential components, both of which must be ready before sending the first email. The query letter itself is a one-page pitch: a compelling introduction to your book’s central argument, its relevance to current debates and why you’re the person to write it. Think of it as the elevator pitch that gets you in the room. 

You also need a complete book proposal, ready to send the moment an agent expresses interest, sometimes within days of your query. A book proposal can be 50 pages (give or take) and includes an overview of your book idea, your author platform, chapter summaries, your book’s market and competition, promotion ideas and one or more sample chapters. 

To understand what makes agents say “yes” to academics pitching commercial nonfiction books, The Public Scholar recently sat down with Kayla Lightner of Ayesha Pande Literary in New York City. We discussed why social media is not the only or even most important way to build a platform, why academics should channel the nerdy, geeked-out kids inside and storytelling. 

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity. 

The Public Scholar: How can an academic recognize when they have a genuinely trade-worthy idea? 

Kayla Lightner: Ask yourself: Is my idea urgent and pressing for readers outside of academia? Does it impact their lives? Should this argument be discussed not only in classrooms but at dinner tables? 

Also, a good story is vital—not just in getting the reader in the door but also keeping them there. 

Can you do those two things—tease out collective stakes and also craft your idea in a compelling narrative? 

TPS: Historians and literary experts have familiarity with storytelling, but what advice do you have for academics who may not be trained to think first about storytelling? 

KL: That’s the fun part! You take something that may feel abstract or boring [to non-experts] and make a reader care about it. There are a couple of tricks for winding readers into a topic they wouldn’t have considered otherwise.

The first is a personal connection. That can be uncomfortable for academics, as it may go against how they’ve been trained. In academe, it’s “remove the personal,” “show your ability to engage with the discourse,” and “okay, now you’re green-lighted to make your argument.” But leading with personal experience, especially when it relates to your academic expertise, is powerful. You become the entry point for the reader. 

Another way requires a bit of journalism or reportage—going out and interviewing folks. You can integrate other peoples’ experiences to make a story. You animate the context. 

You can also weave storytelling into your narrative by offering historical context. If you topic is urgent, readers want to know, “how did we get here?” 

If you’re writing a prescriptive book—health advice, for example—think about how you’re getting to the actionable takeaways. Usually there’s story there, too. “Before I started doing X, this was my experience. And after I started doing X, this was how it affected me.” You can interweave multiple threads to tell a compelling story.  

When I saw the title of your book, How Math Will Save Your Life, I was reminded of something: Academic authors writing for trade audiences should give the reader access to the nerdy, geeked-out kid inside of them that has excitement and wonder for their subject. 

TPS: That tracks with my experience. When my literary agent submitted my proposal to editors, we included a two-page author’s note in which I shared dozens of ways that math—from bubble geometry to calculus to fuzzy logic—has saved my life. My book isn’t a memoir, but I wanted editors to know that it comes from an authentic place, both from me as a mathematician and as a human. My proposal ultimately went to auction, and every editor who bid said that my author’s note dialed up their interest in making offers.  

KL: I can see it! Academics don’t tend to misjudge an idea for a book, but they sometimes misjudge how to present it. Good writers lure a reader into a topic that they might not care or even think about. And once the reader gets into the story, they can’t think of anything else. 

The reader needs to trust that [nonfiction] authors have expertise, which academics do. But readers also need to trust authors as storytellers. They want to know: Will I feel distanced by jargon? Will the author throw a bunch of literary theory at me, and now I have to go read another book before I can understand the argument? Readers want authors to be on their side through the story.

TPS: Has the market for “big idea” books by academics changed in the past 5-10 years? 

KL: I add a huge asterisk when talking about the state of the current market. When you’re pitching a book, what’s working in the market now will radically change by the time your book comes out. 

But the folks who are doing well crossing over from academic to trade publishing are asking, “how did we get here?” Richard Slotkin over at Wesleyan wrote, A Great Disorder: National Myth and the Battle for America, and was longlisted for the National Book Award. That book asks, “how did we become so politically fragmented as a nation?” He draws the historical throughlines. 

Dana Williams over at Howard whose book, Toni at Random: The Iconic Writers’ Legendary Editorship, draws attention to a lesser-known side of Toni Morrison’s career at Random House. She adds a new dimension to our understanding of this legacy writer. 

Also look at [Harvard professor] Imani Perry’s South to America: A Journey Below the Mason-Dixon Line to Understand the Soul of a Nation, which won the 2022 National Book Award. And [University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill professor] Tressie McMillan Cottom’s Thick and Other Essays [offering “treatises on beauty, media, money, and more” and “unapologetically ‘thick’: deemed ‘thick where I should have been thin, more where I should have been less’”]. 

These books differ in terms of scope and focus, but the throughline is powerful storytelling.

TPS: What sections of a book proposal do you read most carefully? 

KL: I read the chapter summaries and the sample chapter most carefully. That’s similar to what an editor does when I send a project on submission. They’re going to read the overview, and then they may sift over all of the other stuff—target audience, comps, platform—and get right to the chapter summaries and sample chapter. Those are the book’s meat and potatoes. 

They want to know: How is this going to flow? Is there a narrative progression? Do I connect with this writing and voice on a visceral level? Do I want to read 300 pages of this person telling me about this idea? The chapter summaries and the sample chapter offer a teaser of your book. 

Ultimately, your book proposal should answer: Why this book? Why now? Why you? It’s simple. What’re the stakes? What’s the narrative? 

TPS: I’ve heard from academics with book ideas who say that their idea is so unique that no comparable books exist. Still, I tell them, they need to include comps. Do you agree?  

KL: Comps are vital. They signal to the agent—and eventually an editor—where your book fits in the trade marketplace. If someone says that there’s nothing like their book idea, that signals to me that they’re unaware of the marketplace. Every writer needs to verse themselves in where their book will be placed on a bookshelf in a bookstore. What other titles would be beside it? 

For folks who are genuinely struggling with comps, they can mix and match. They can tease out different components of the book. Maybe it’s the tone. Maybe it’s the voice. Maybe it’s the style of your writing. Pick two to three different comps [for each of these] that fit with your book. 

TPS: What would you advise an academic who has strong credibility but limited public presence? Is the “you need a platform first” advice as ironclad as it sometimes seems?

KL: Platform is vital, especially for nonfiction—doubly so for someone who is established in the academic space and is now trying to crossover to trade. Platform signals to a publisher that you have begun to cultivate your own audience. 

I want to clarify: Social media is not the only way to build a platform, and it’s not even the most important way. As we’ve seen, social media platforms can disappear overnight. If social media comes naturally to you, great. But there are other ways to build platform. 

The biggest one is your bylines. Just as you’re publishing articles in academic journals, academics should look to publish in public-facing outlets The Atlantic, The New York Times, Washington Post and local publications. These are testing grounds for you. When you translate academic ideas for these spaces, you learn what resonates with readers. You also learn what resonates with editors at those publications. You see if your idea has legs in the trade space.  

TPS: When should an academic not seek a literary agent for their nonfiction book idea and instead submit directly to the trade division of a university press? 

KL: If an academic is planning their book to be a one-off, then they may not need an agent. 

But is the academic planning to write in multiple genres or markets? Writers who work with agents generally plan to write more than one book. If an academic is envisioning writing more than one trade book, then an agent can help map the constellation of your writing career. 

Want more public scholarship insights? Sign up for Susan’s monthly newsletter. You’ll get notice of each new article in The Public Scholar, plus writing tips, behind-the-scenes insights from her work and inspiration from other academics finding their voice in public spaces. Your expertise is hard-won. What might happen if you shared what you know more broadly?