MORRISON'S DEBUT novel Swung created a stir thanks to its frank and brutal depiction of Glasgow's underground swinging scene. The tabloid attention rather overshadowed that Swung was a remarkable and perceptive look at the psychology of sex, love and relationships, and with that book Morrison posted notice that he was a writer of serious intent and prodigious talent.

Distance is a logical progression, dealing with many of the same themes and written in similarly direct, terse prose, but it mostly eschews the sex obsession of its predecessor in favour of a deeper emotional resonance, and is a braver, more ingenious and harder hitting novel as a result.

We begin with an ending. Meg and Tom have enjoyed a brief but highly passionate romance during a week in New York, but the book opens at Newark airport with Tom returning to his life in Edinburgh, as Meg drives back to her home on bohemian Fire Island outside New York.

Both are in their late thirties and didn't expect love to come calling, but the intensity of their feelings has tethered them together emotionally. There is a promise that, in eight weeks' time, Meg will fly out to Edinburgh to see Tom, and the book deftly details this period as the pair veer from infatuation to despair and back again, as well as gradually drip-feeding us the details of their turbulent week together.

This is an ambitious set-up, but Morrison pulls it off with aplomb. Through a series of journals, e-mails, phone conversations and texts, the author subtly reveals the inner workings of his two protagonists and the reasons why they might be drawn to each other.

Meg is a script doctor, called in by Hollywood studios to sort out wayward movie projects, while Tom is a failed film director, now stuck making small-time corporate promotional videos. These jobs bleed nicely into their characters - Meg is over-analytical and obsessive about her life and loves, while Tom is jaded, cynical and self-deprecating, almost defeated by the world.

It's not easy to write about passionate love, but Morrison is completely convincing in that respect. In lesser hands, the besotted dialogues and communications between Tom and Meg might begin to grate, but here the author makes them utterly compelling. Despite the pair constantly looking backwards to their week together, there is a relentless forward momentum to Distance, Morrison creating an insatiable desire to find out what happens when they finally meet up again.

Is their love true? Have they projected unrealistic expectations onto their few days together? Are they using each other as emotional crutches, are they self-sabotaging to perpetuate their roles as losers in love, life's unlucky also-rans? Are they creating a script for a post-modern love story that never really existed?

Morrison handles all this brilliantly, and his perfectly judged denouement is a blow to the head and heart. On this form, Morrison is one of the finest novelists around.

Distance by Ewan Morrison
Jonathan Cape, £12.99; 432pp
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