In hindsight it's clear that Midnight Cowboy (the movie) was the worst thing that could have happened to Midnight Cowboy (the book). Where John Schlesinger's 1969 adaptation went on to win the best picture Oscar and make stars of John Voight and Dustin Hoffman, James Leo Herlihy's 1965 source novel slipped quietly out of print. Its reappearance only justifies itself with a strap-line advertising it as "the cult novel behind the classic film".

This does Herlihy a faint disservice: his Cowboy is so much more than some minority-interest blueprint. On the face of it, the narrative is the same as the film, charting the misadventures of gauche Texan gigolo (Joe Buck) who lights out for New York and hooks up with a lame, doomed hustler (Ratso Rizzo).

And yet where the film has since become something of a decadent 60s timepiece, Herlihy's tale is at once more universal and more intimate. His characters have a dignity and a tragic dimension that the movie only hints at. His tale adds up to a vivid, compelling portrait of American flotsam that's as resonant now as it was back then.

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