In limbo ... Bernard Malamud. Photograph: David Lees/Corbis

The Fixer, Bernard Malamud's most famous novel, won both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize in 1967. An absorbing, compelling and deeply human tale of freedom, hate and morality, its deceptively simple style and beautifully wrought sentences hold you captive from its opening. If the term wasn't cheapened by its constant use, I'd call it a masterpiece - so instead I'll say it belongs to the very upper echelons of fiction: a novel that could change your life. This, however, is immaterial to the most important fact about The Fixer. This life-changing novel is out of print.

It's not alone: most of Malamud's novels are now either out of print or are ominously branded as print-on-demand titles. This means that they are technically available, but you're highly unlikely to find a copy on the shelves of your local bookstore. Malamud has entered a literary netherworld, one where he's available, but only if you're willing to wait a week or so. Of course you can get them secondhand, or on import from the States, but this isn't the same as being able to pick them up from your local booksellers.

Malamud's books are, therefore, not quite dead; not quite alive. It's a situation that could have come directly from one of his novels.

Bernard Malamud was born in 1914 in Brooklyn, and it's there that most of his stories are set. On his death in 1986, the literary world mourned a writer whose small body of work - just seven completed novels and 54 short stories - belied his importance on writers such as Philip Roth and Saul Bellow. His short stories were considered to among the finest of their time, and his novels received just about every prize they were eligible for. His first novel, The Natural, was even turned into an awful film starring Robert Redford. So what the hell happened?

Philip Davis's excellent biography of Malamud came out late last year, received admirable notices and, most importantly, made you ravenous to read the writer's books. When I asked him why he thought Malamud had been shunted into the literary shadowlands, I got the impression that Davis could write a book-length thesis on the subject. But with restraint he boiled it down to three areas: a perceived whiff of old-fashioned morality, a surfeit of emotion and lack of drama.

Davis is of course right on these matters, but having read The Fixer I believe that any current writer would kill to have constructed such a timeless, unforgettable novel. Malamud's themes, his passions and his style do not come across as old fashioned: on the contrary, they seem fresh and alive. A story like Jewbird, featuring a talking crow that inveigles his way into a family home, could sit comfortably, even grandly, alongside anyone from Jonathan Safran Foer to Nathan Englander. The problem, I think, cuts deeper than that: the fact is Malamud isn't cool enough.

Richard Yates's literary resurrection came through writers' recommendations and a pretty good biography. The image of him drinking himself half to death, still smoking while carrying an oxygen tank around with him, is perhaps the one that we like to see of our hard-living writers. Malamud was never so ostentatious - and neither were his characters. It's this lack of show, this subtlety which marks him apart from Bellow and Roth, the writers he should be considered alongside. Their bombast, their fiery prose and brimming sentences, shout importance, whereas Malamud's whisper, patiently and intently.

This perceived lack of marketability means that Malamud seems destined to be consigned to a print-on-demand limbo. With no backing or in-house support, rebranding or rejacketing, the Malamud books will exist only for those who already know his genius. Without visibility, without presence, these books will may well perish. This is not a shame. This is not unfortunate. This is a downright tragedy. To let one of the world's greatest writers slip through our fingers, to ignore him in such a shameless manner is nothing short of a scandal.

What he needs is a champion, a publisher to take on not only the out-of-print books but also the print-on-demand titles. It may take a little money to spring him out of limbo, but if you manage to root out one of his books, you'll see he's worth every cent.