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The blurb on the back:

If you've really got the fever it lasts way past Saturday night.
Tony Manero had the talent, the rhythm, the fire, the dream. So he crossed the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan, to the Broadway world of bright lights. A world of endless auditions, rejections, indifferent producers - and Laura. She taught Tony about show business. But Jackie was waiting in the wings to teach him more about life...

Stallone! Travolta! Stallone and Travolta together!! Saturday Night Fever!!! Part 2!!!

See the eyes you loathe light up as Hollywood falls yet again for a completely crap pitch. You know it's going to be awful. I know it's going to be awful. Even Bernard Matthews was licking his lips at the prospect of this genuine 100% turkey. It's rubbish. Really!

Made in 1983, Staying Alive found John Travolta returning as Tony Manero. Now a professional dancer, his dress sense had got worse (somehow) and he'd got a bit more muscle-bound, this latter possibly in tribute to the director and co-writer of the movie. I've praised Stallone elsewhere, so I don't need to do that again, but this one came just as his career was sliding into the pitiful pits of '80s hell. It falls in the middle of a run of six films which included the two most desperate Rocky movies (III and IV) and the two Rambo nonsenses, and it still manages to be the worst of the set. ('A godawful parody of a multi-million-pound Zanussi ad' - Time Out.)

Impressively, the book's even worse. Not because veteran novelizer Leonore Fleischer is particularly rubbish as a writer - she's as uninspired as ever, but really the material is terrible.