At lunchtime, the Otley branch of HSBC is a hive of activity. On the pavement outside, a writer stands with a carrier bag which is bulging with copies of his latest novel. He’s attempting to engage with a Londoner in his mid-30s, who is fidgeting uncomfortably under close questioning.

“Hello. Would you like a book?”
“No, you’re alright, mate.”
“It’s free.”
“No, seriously, I don’t want it.”
“I wrote it. Go on, you might like it.”
“I don’t really read books, so it would a bit of a waste of time.”
“You could sell it on eBay and buy beer instead.”
“Nah, you’re alright, no thanks.”
“You sure? Do you know anyone else who reads books?”
“No.”
“Oh. What, no-one?”

Giving away your books in the street isn’t a marketing approach that’s embraced by many authors, but Robert Chalmers is prepared to do whatever legwork is necessary to move up the literary ladder. Both of his novels have met with critical acclaim, prompting the likes of Alan Bleasdale, Steve Coogan and Hunter S Thompson to offer up glowing dust-jacket testimonials. However, sales in the UK have been steady but slow – a state of affairs that no novelist would relish – and James Patterson is reported not to be quaking in his boots. Sitting in a hotel just outside Otley the night before the planned give-away (“I tried to find somewhere to stay in Otley itself, but it doesn’t appear to be a major tourist destination”) Chalmers bemoans the difficulty that his loyal publisher, Atlantic, has had in competing with larger companies in a saturated marketplace. “The likes of Harper Collins and Macmillan have the ability to blanket-bomb towns with those huge bookshop displays, but my book hasn’t even made it into Waterstones’ 3 for 2 offer. I’ve always wondered whether ‘ordinary people’ with no influence or literary connections would actually like my books – I mean, it’s not Dostoyevsky.” Inspired by finding novels that had been littered on Manhattan subways by anxious authors trying to create a word-of-mouth buzz amongst commuters, Chalmers devised his own scheme to help promote his new book, East Of Nowhere. “It’s putting the litter back in literature,” he says. “I had this idea of bombarding a small town with books, so they end up absolutely everywhere and can’t be avoided.” But of all the towns in the UK, why choose Otley? “When my second novel was serialised in a newspaper,” he explains, “there was a credit card hotline number printed at the bottom which – for reasons too complicated to go into – was actually an answer phone set up in my bedroom. We only had three people call, but all of them were women from Yorkshire. So Yorkshire seems to be lucky for me.” Then, in a quest to find those ‘ordinary people’, he crossed the larger towns off the list (“too many journalists and TV producers”) followed quickly by Hebden Bridge (“too many crystals and scented candles”) and Ilkley (“Apparently it’s got a book festival”). Finally, on account of its size, shape, and the fact that it hotly competes for the national title of having the most pubs per capita, Otley won through.

Divided by the River Wharfe and overlooked by a giant escarpment known as The Chevin – which has the enviable knack of blocking out the Channel 5 TV signal for certain local residents – Otley is a small market town known chiefly for its realistic portrayal of the town of Hotton in TV soap Emmerdale. Its population is around 25,000; Chalmers has come here equipped with 1,000 copies of his novel and is hoping that distributing them to 4% of Otley’s residents free of charge will give him a more realistic chance of being invited to open a few fetes and supermarkets by the end of the year. As the scheduled 1pm start time approaches, the rain is lashing down and The Chevin is rendered virtually invisible behind a grim blanket of grey cloud. “Ooh, it’s a lovely day,” trills an upbeat barmaid at the horribly misspelled but distinctly hospitable Korks Wine Bar, the project headquarters. Chalmers, wearing a leather jacket and a damp woolly hat pulled down over his head, looks slightly more glum. “I’ve had a look around town,” he says. “There are some good streets – one with a barber, a chiropodist and some public toilets – but I just went in a pub called the Rose And Crown to try leaving a couple of books, and this unfriendly landlady just said ‘There’s no READERS in here!’” His mood is further spoiled by the revalation of a quote from an internet messageboard, which details two unprovoked attacks that a certain gentleman had been subjected to in Otley. Apparently the townsfolk “don’t take kindly to outsiders”, and the message ends menacingly: “You have been warned”. “Oh god,” moans Chalmers. “I knew that something that started off as a joke down the pub was bound to end in tears.” To distribute the books he has enlisted the help of eccentric musician and Andy Kershaw favourite Brendan Croker, who lives locally and happens to be assembling an exhibition of his art in the back room of the wine bar. Croker is a larger than life figure who bounds into the book-filled room wearing a red and white neckerchief and trilby hat, offering hearty handshakes all round. He outlines the schedule, while squatting on the floor and sketching out a rough map of Otley with a black marker pen. Apparently, things can’t get underway until someone called Scum has arrived. “Scum is 40 years old, he wears a pacemaker, and he knows how to handle trouble,” explains Croker. Chalmers visibly blanches, no doubt imagining the streets of Otley filled with axe-wielding maniacs. A couple of minutes later, Scum arrives, tattoed and pierced throughout. “Er, are you Scum?” asks Chalmers, politely. “Yes,” replies Scum. “And… is that what you’d like to be called?” he asks, even more politely. “Well, that’s my name. Though it’s Mr Scum, to you.” Standing behind Scum is Scum’s friend, Stuart. He’s carrying an axe.

Chalmers decides to start things off gently, offering a book to the ever-cheerful Korks barmaid. “Oh, that’s really kind of you! So kind! Thank you very much!” Chalmers signs the inside of the book with a flourish, smiling. “I hope everyone’s as nice as this,” he says. In the back room, four local teenage recruits are decorating the books with felt tip, writing phrases such as “read this, it’s good for you!” and “pick me up!” They stuff as many books as they can into some bright yellow Netto carrier bags, and are sent on their way by Croker, with the advice to target any premises with a waiting room. “Good luck!” shouts Chalmers. “If they come back battered black and blue,” he adds, sotto voce, “I might think again about the whole thing.” In the meantime, Chalmers gets on the phone to Iggy, a Chilean cab driver who has promised to pick up a pile of books and offer one free to every passenger he picks up. And there’s more good news: “Apparently there’s a friendly landlord around the corner who says he’ll refuse to sell anyone a drink unless they also take a free book,” he says. Scum promptly heads off with Stuart, laden with books and predicting a favourable response at the bikers’ chip shop. When the decoy group of teenagers return unscathed a few minutes later toting empty carrier bags, Chalmers springs into action. He marches to the Post Office with Croker; the first person he encounters is someone who reviews books for the Yorkshire Post. “Incredible. I try and find someone with no literary connections, and look what happens,” he laughs. The other customers are glad to be diverted from their business of queuing for stamps, and Chalmers emerges from the building six books lighter. However, down the road at Netto, the clientele have a slightly cooler attitude. “No thank you,” snaps a woman with a pushchair, eyeing the front cover suspiciously as if it’s some extreme religious propaganda. A grey-haired man is gingerly approached at the checkout. “Would you like a book?” “What, free? Aye.” He slips it into his carrier bag along with the oven chips. Another satisfied customer.

With all these books being given away for nothing, I ask Chalmers whether this generosity is lowering the intrinsic value of his book. “Of course!” he laughs. “No doubt there’ll be a few hundred up on eBay before the week’s out. It’s probably commercial suicide.” Karen Duffy, Associate Publisher at Atlantic, takes a different view. “Any publisher will tell you that word of mouth is one secret of success,” she explains. “Recommendation by a friend or another trusted source is the surest way of finding the next book you read – and a good publisher can kick-start that process. Getting the book on Richard & Judy is one way, of course, but leaving copies of the book in public places to surprise passers-by might just be another.”

A trip to the Otley Conservative Club proves particularly successful, with 3 copies given away and a fourth rewarded a place in the ‘library’, a miniscule shelf containing six battered titles. “I’m glad we got rid of a few there,” murmurs Chalmers, “as the book’s basically a parable about the evils of the Conservative Party.” Meanwhile, Croker has upped the ante by walking into town carrying a silver ukelele and a home-made triangle that he made the previous night out of a driveshaft. “Reverse busking,” explains Chalmers. “Brendan starts playing, and instead of people giving him money, they take a book.” The light blue cover is now becoming a familiar sight around Otley, and giving copies away is becoming easier. “People seem much happier to accept one after they’ve seen someone else carrying it,” notes Chalmers. But before long the trusty volunteers are having difficulty locating people who aren’t carrying a copy, having managed to secure East Of Nowhere the same kind of ubiquity that the Da Vinci Code has on the London underground – but after only a couple of hours of work.

Back at Korks, the computer which provides the wine bar’s background music has been stolen, and a police constable has arrived to take down the details. “I notice that they didn’t steal any of my books,” points out Chalmers, with slight irritation. Suddenly, the doors swing open. It’s Scum and Stuart, carrying 6 empty carrier bags and looking incredibly pleased. “We just scared Otley,” grins Scum. How so? He bares his teeth, brandishing the carrier bag, and shouts: “We’ve got something to give you!” Chalmers winces slightly. “I may not be a name in London or New York,” he says under his breath, “but I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be massive in Otley.”