It started out as a dream £1.2m publishing contract, with a vision of many millions to be made for all parties in worldwide book sales and film deals. But Julian Assange: the Unauthorised Autobiography – as the Canongate publishing director, Nick Davies, titled the book jacket – has turned out to be something of a nightmare, threatening the hoped-for profit bonanza.
There are not many autobiographies whose subject angrily disowns it on publication day, as Assange did, when he revealed that the manuscript had in fact been penned and handed over by someone else: in this case, ghostwriter Andrew O'Hagan, who had hoped to keep his role quiet. The founder of WikiLeaks upheld his reputation for 360-degree belligerence by claiming that he had been "screwed over to make a buck" by an opportunist publisher whom he had tried to injunct.
To complete the picture of acrimony, Assange went on to publicly denounce his former lawyers, claiming they were sitting on his publishers' advance of £412,000, which they were holding to cover their legal fees. Assange's allegations of "extreme overcharging" were rapidly denied by the London media firm of Finers, Stephens, Innocent (FSI).
The saga of Assange's memoirs began last year, when after co-operating with the Guardian and the New York Times to publish a series of huge electronic leaks he had obtained of US military material he was arrested in London, wanted for extradition and questioning by Swedish authorities about claims of sexual assault from two women in Stockholm.
A book deal was drawn up and clinched by the London literary agent Caroline Michel, under which Canongate, the innovative Scottish firm run by Jamie Byng, and the US publishers Knopf agreed to pay £600,000 and $800,000 respectively for the rights, with Knopf paying $250,000 (£162,000) in advance. Canongate also agreed to pay upfront O'Hagan's ghostwriting fee, believed to exceed £100,000.
Assange already seemed to have the possibility in mind that he might withdraw from the deal. Sources close to the Canongate negotiations say he demanded a deal that he could keep £125,000 of the advance whatever happened. Byng laughed this out of court, responding according to correspondence seen by the Guardian: "We cannot accept … the idea that regardless of whether Julian delivers (or regardless of what he delivers or regardless of when he delivers), he will keep £125,000."
Canongate also negotiated a crucial loophole in the contract, which it was eventually to invoke. It would pay Assange £250,000 immediately on signature of the deal, as the publisher's share of the first tranche of the advance.
But it said: "If … the manuscript has not been delivered by the prescribed date or its final form is not acceptable to the Publisher, the Publisher has the right to decide whether to continue to publish the Work. If the Publisher decides to continue to publish the Work the Proprietor agrees that all typescript or notes relevant to the said Work shall belong to the Publisher."
With this reassurance, the publishers on both sides of the Atlantic wrote Assange large cheques and O'Hagan set to work, recording hours of reminiscences from Assange, throughout the winter, at the chilly country premises of Captain Vaughn Smith, owner of the journalists' Frontline Club in London, who had guaranteed to supervise Assange while he was on bail.
The money went into the client account for the Assange defence fund, administered by solicitor Mark Stephens, who was conducting Assange's criminal defence. Assange now claims he thought he was getting the services of top QCs and solicitors pro bono. But FSI, which says only the initial advice tendered was free, eventually put in bills that in total are reported to exceed the advance. Stephens, who made spirited speeches on the courtroom steps in defence of Assange, says: "No single person at FSI believes that Julian was overcharged."
But the row over money appears to have played a crucial role in the implosion of the book project. All sources agree that O'Hagan did his job diligently and produced a draft manuscript by March, as required. But Assange refused to sign off on it. Some sources suggest that, after failing to sell the Hollywood film rights to his memoirs, Assange realised that all future payments on the book would be swallowed up by his lawyers. If, on the other hand, he had no visible assets, his legal representatives could whistle for their money.
Assange himself, according to the statements he put out, denies this. He claims he was "not in a position to dedicate my full attention to a book" in view of his upcoming fight against extradition. He also claims that he was willing to renegotiate a delivery date. Canongate firmly rejects these claims, insisting that Assange would never confirm in writing his agreement to any new delivery date. The publisher says that even a week before it put out the unauthorised version, it gave Assange a final chance to fulfil his side of the bargain.
Both Canongate and Knopf were in a painful position. Knopf has now cancelled its contract, and the Assange camp will not respond to claims that Knopf wants its $250,000 back, other than to say it is sitting in the FSI legal account. Canongate, £350,000 out of pocket on the advance and the ghostwriter fees, had intended to recoup all its money and more besides, by sales deals with 38 foreign publishers. Had it not published, there would have been a large hole in its finances. As it is, many of the foreign deals are now in jeopardy and will have to be renegotiated. Only two are reported to have firmly signed up so far to the new "unauthorised" book. One publishing source says: "The economic climate of the deal has certainly altered for Canongate." One benefit for the publisher, however, is that under the get-out clause in the contract it will no longer be obliged to pay the second and third tranche of the advance – a saving of £350,000. Canongate has, however, promised to pay Assange any royalties he is due after the paid-out advances have been recouped.
One of the problems Canongate faces in this extraordinary literary imbroglio is that the book it has put out will be criticised for its inadequacy and, in some cases, the manuscript's errors. Owing to the secrecy with which copies were dumped out to bookshops, there appears to have been only a limited process of factchecking. The book appears to stop abruptly late last year, before Assange had even published his final batch of leaks in the form of the US diplomatic cables. It does not deal with major aspects of Assange's career, such as his breach with his former partner at WikiLeaks, Daniel Domscheit-Berg. Assange himself is criticising it on the sidelines for being an erroneous and unchecked manuscript. Canongate themselves describe it as a "draft" rather than a completed work.
Some observers still believe that Assange stands to make a small fortune from his eventual royalties. The book itself will certainly find a sale among WikiLeaks aficionados around the world. Its account of the Swedish sex allegations against him, still to be resolved, contains new hints that the young women who complained about him were "neurotic", "vague" or had a mysterious hostile agenda. His references to the "hardcore feminism" he suffered from in Sweden will ignite controversy again, weeks before British appeal judges are due to rule on his continued attempt to fight extradition.
A sizeable proportion of the manuscript is devoted to attacks on media organisations with which he formerly co-operated, including the Guardian. These too, are accused of "double-crossing" him. Guardian reporters are characterised as "weaklings with a crush" rather than "men of action and principle", and on one occasion are described as "lily-livered gits in glass offices".
The former editor of the New York Times, Bill Keller, is the target of special ire for his allegedly unco-operative attitude, described as "a moral pygmy with a self-justifying streak the size of the San Andreas fault". Assange writes: "The cock crowed three times and Bill Keller shamelessly denied us."
Assange denies the disclosure made in the Guardian's previously published book, that he once said US informants in Afghanistan "deserved to die". He now maintains he was merely quoting an attitude held by some unnamed others. He is silent on accusations made against him that he associates with antisemitic propagandists. He is also silent on some of the details of the sex allegations, particularly the accusation that he had sex without a condom against a woman's wishes. He does admit, however, that he may be seen as "cold" and a "chauvinist pig" by some people.
It is likely that this week's publication will represent a unique publishing melodrama. But it is yet to be seen whether Canongate can turn it into adequate sums of cash.
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