“People want me to be mad at Reed’s story,” Mr. Randolph said in an interview, “and I go, ‘No, not at all, it’s a good story.’ I’m sure it’s the same as Newton, who didn’t really come up with gravity when an apple fell on his head.”

On a warm summer day, he was on the porch of his house in Santa Cruz, part of a 50-acre estate with its own vineyard. Seated with him were his wife of 32 years, Lorraine, and a spirited black Lab, Indi. The Audi Q7 in the driveway has a vanity plate that reads NTFLX, and the Toyota Tacoma in the garage has one that says NETFLIX.

Mr. Randolph, 61, left Netflix in 2003, five years after Mr. Hastings had taken a hands-on role. In the book he says his skills were more suited to a company’s start-up days than its period of success.

“Unlike me,” Mr. Randolph writes, “Reed is not only a phenomenal early-stage C.E.O. — he’s as good (or better) as a late-stage C.E.O.”

Employees at Netflix in its early days had no set hours and no vacation allotments. The same is true today. There was also a corporate culture of “radical honesty” that also perseveres. Employees evaluate one another and are encouraged to weigh in on strategic decisions. Salary information is transparent.

Mr. Randolph went to Silicon Valley in the 1980s after growing up in Chappaqua, N.Y. His father was a nuclear engineer turned financial adviser. His mother ran her own real estate firm. Marketing was in his blood. His great-uncle is Edward Bernays, a nephew of Sigmund Freud and a man often called “the father of public relations.” Bernays is Mr. Randolph’s middle name.