Round a table in Batley's stately public library, a group of readers discusses, in quick and eclectic succession, passages from Raymond Carver, Carol Ann Duffy, Flaubert and Damon Runyon. Their deliberations are not, however, an update of Victorian self-improvement, when Methodism, mechanics institute and Carnegie library offset the daily toil in a mill town famous for pioneering the recycling of woollen waste - thereby giving us the word "shoddy".

The weekly sessions are, in fact, an innovative attempt to tackle a health problem: the growing incidence of depression, anxiety and stress. People at a low ebb as a result of loneliness, bereavement or withdrawal from alcohol or drug addiction might find reading helps, according to organisers of the scheme.

Batley is one of three libraries in Kirklees, West Yorkshire, offering guided reading and group discussion of fiction as a therapy additional to any medication or psychiatric help. Kirklees council set up the Reading and You Scheme (Rays) in partnership with the then local primary health care groups, but while some people attend at the suggestion of a GP, community psychiatric nurse (CPN) or social worker, it is open to anyone.

The only sceptics so far have been some family doctors. Other health and social services staff are keen, as is the librarians' professional body, which has shortlisted Rays for this year's Libraries Change Lives Award.

John Duffy, who runs the Batley workshops, admits he is uncomfortable with the name for the new technique - "bibliotherapy". However, as a social worker who was made redundant and became a writer and teacher of creative writing, he says there are both benefits from it and misunderstandings about it.

When Rays began almost two years ago, says Duffy, some of the media spread the idea that it would be recommending a different book for every condition, as an alternative to medication or psychiatry. That was wide of the mark. Catherine Morris, Kirklees's principal libraries manager, explains that the idea came in a brain-storming session by her staff while looking for ways to attract new borrowers. She says: "We were hearing people coming and saying: 'That book helped me in so many ways.' Or they'd say a novel expressed a situation they'd been in, or perhaps had shown them a different way to tackle a problem. We had a strong conviction that fiction does benefit people, but no out-and-out proof."

That belief was enough, however, to get funding for three part-time bibliotherapists and start Rays in three libraries in areas in and around Huddersfield with high levels of social exclusion.

Though the term bibliotherapy has been in use at least since the 1990s, it has been applied in many different ways. Kirklees has defined it as a branch of library work - though not necessarily done by librarians, so that it has appointed bibliotherapists with backgrounds in teaching, community work and library work. "It's an ideal combination," says Morris.

It was further considered whether staff needed to have psychotherapeutic skills, but the decision was against. "We're trying to give [readers] a taste of normality - as they have put it - through reading," Morris says. "They can talk about books, or talk about their problems; it's entirely up to them what they disclose or don't disclose."

Duffy, an engaging apologist for the power of reading, explains how he introduces the concept. "I've got a spiel. I say it's an exercise for the mind; that a good story engages our emotions; and that, for as long as you are caught up in a story, it displaces your problems."

The work of all the bibliotherapists consists of one-to-one sessions with readers, finding suitable fiction or poetry for them. There are visits to day centres and residential homes for older people, as well as the weekly workshops. What is on offer is not therapy, but "normality" - the sociable activity of talking about books.

Duffy was surprised, when the venture started, that as many men as women contacted him: often they were living alone and had gone through an emotional or financial crisis. That is reflected is one recent midweek group. One participant, 38-year-old Derek, who is on medication and works as a chef when his health allows, says he was an avid reader when he was in the navy, so does not find books off-putting. The chance to exchange views attracts him to the group.

A middle-aged woman participant, who prefers anonymity, attends a day centre but says she feels isolated because she does not work. The social contact with the group is important to her. She turns out to be the life and soul of the session. When Duffy asks everyone which volumes they would save from a fire, she gets the biggest laugh of the afternoon when she replies: "My building society book."

In this session, there are no personal disclosures by participants - not even when an elderly woman reads a description of the early nuptial bliss of Emma and Charles Bovary. One man does caution: "It will all end in tears."

There are no tears in the group, of course. Everyone is very composed. Duffy explains the unwritten rules: he tells people new to the scheme that he is not there to cover the same ground as a family doctor, CPN or health visitor. Many of the referrals have been "round the system" for some time, and have given their histories to a string of different health professionals, so an initial conver sation of 20 or 30 minutes is enough to fix them up with a suitable book.

Morris endorses this. "A lot of them are in touch with counsellors and want to get away from the medical side of it," she says.

Because Rays is breaking new ground, it has been modified as it has gone along. Bibliotherapists were initially partnered with GP practices, but while some doctors were (and remain) supportive, Duffy declares that "mine was the only one that worked". Even so, he felt he was spending too much time in morning surgeries, waiting for clients. Other clients attended the library with a GP's letter. This, says Duffy, often made them anxious rather than relaxed.

Most referrals now come from CPNs and community workers, who accompany their clients on their first meeting with Duffy. Morris says this change is not negative. "Now we put less emphasis on the GP side of it and focus on other health professionals."

Doctors are "a highly sceptical lot" and require proof of what works, Morris argues. "The whole point of our scheme is to set out to provide that proof. Doctors are coming round in some respects, but anything as new and unheard of as bibliotherapy was perhaps taking it a step too far. I have to stress that health visitors, CPNs and social workers are really quite keen and are pushing on our behalf."

The library profession is positive, too. Calderdale, Kirklees's neighbouring authority, has recently introduced the scheme, and Glasgow council has asked Duffy and his colleagues to hold a workshop for its library staff in the autumn. Bibliotherapy may soon be crossing the border.

The impact of living libraries

The Libraries Change Lives Award is designed to celebrate innovation and achievement by grassroots library projects and individual staff.

The award is run by the Chartered Institute of Library and Information Professionals, formed this month by a merger of the Library Association and the Institute of Information Scientists.

In addition to the Rays project, the three-strong shortlist for this year's award - to be announced formally next week - includes a scheme at Nottingham prison, whereby children's librarians from the city's libraries encourage prisoners to select books and record stories on tape for their children or other young relatives.

The third shortlisted scheme is a library at the state high-security hospital in Carstairs, Lanarkshire. The library, which is staffed by patients, has developed over three years from a few shelves of books to an extensive collection of books, computers, CDs, videos and video games.

The winning scheme will be announced on June 26.