Picture the scene. The first Sunday of October, Soho, New York, 9am. I’m sitting in in the chilly shade of Autumn, at the weekend market, doing my best to draw attention to my books, which I have arranged upright across my hired plastic table. All it takes is a slight puff of breeze and they fall flat again. Then I realize that very few people in New York have heard of my book or me. I’m wearing jeans and a collared shirt.