ANNE RICE sells so many books that she is not so much a writer as a publishing phenomenon.

Thus her new novel, Servant of the Bones, has not so much been published as brought forth, triumphantly, in the midst of a simultaneous publishing package which includes the paperback version of Memnoch the Devil, a book long interview with the author, Interview with Anne Rice, and several volumes of vampires on audio book.

All this publishing bubbly is designed, of course, to give Servant of the Bones a rousing send off, to keep it afloat in the crowded and choppy waters of new hardback fiction. The trouble is, it may well sink it instead. The book is not another volume of the vampire chronicles, and no amount of wishful thinking from publishers and fans ("by the author of Interview with the Vampire!"; "A hero as seductive and ambivalent as the vampire Lestat!") will make it so. It has nothing whatsoever to do with those weird witches with the long fingers and dubious family habits who made their appearance in Lasher and Taltos. It is not pornographic; it is not even, as Rice's books go, particularly shocking.

So what is it? Well, how about, this a whimsical piece of storytelling, a tale which grew out of a single image - the image of a beautiful young boy who was covered with gold and made into a statue - and which meanders along without fuss or furore but is told with sufficient skill to maintain your interest right to the end and beyond. Doesn't sound like Anne Rice, does it? Fuss and furore are her specialty. But she has always had a way with a story, and when she just gets down to it and tells it, as she does here, there's no better woman to keep pages turning.

"This is Azriel's tale as he told it to me ..." That's the opening line of Servant of the Bones, and from this simple start - there is a token framing device, that of the Jewish scholar who is taking down the tale, or taping it, actually, in this hi tech time, but Rice doesn't seem particularly interested in him so we needn't be either - we are whisked into the daily life of ancient Babylon, where the Persians are preparing a coup d'etat and wish to enlist the support of the powerful Jewish minority.

There has never been any better way to do it than by a religious conjuring trick which will have them cheering in the aisles and dancing in the streets, so young Azriel is chosen to "become" a god by having his body painted with bold for the three days of celebrations. The gold will gradually poison him, but in return for his death his people will be allowed to leave Babylon and return to Israel.

Unluckily for Azriel, the ancient ceremony also contains another component which allows the golden god to be transformed into an evil spirit condemned to wander the world forever, the servant of whoever happens to be in possession of his gold encrusted bones at the time. Worse, poor old Azriel's transformation is badly bungled so that he becomes a rebel spirit - a sulky, pouty teenager amongst spirits - with an unfortunate habit of killing his masters before they have time to finish their abracadabras. Only in the 20th century, when he intervenes in a piece of thoroughly nasty business involving a charismatic cult leader, does he break the cycle and learn about redemption.

How, you may he wondering, can anyone possibly make a story out of such a load of tosh? That, of course, is what makes Anne Rice a publishing phenomenon, and this book is as strange, and as strangely compelling, as all her other books. Servant of the Bones has plenty of Rice hallmarks: the lyrical, sing song style, the inbuilt eroticism, the fascination with all things arcane, the love of balmy evenings in tropical climes. But it's a simple story at heart. If it develops into a series, much less a major international movie, I'll he very surprised. {CORRECTION} 96071200009