Bone Song.  By John Meaney.

I’ve already read the second book in this series, “Dark Blood”.  The first book is as good and original as the second. 

In “Bone Song” we meet Donal Riordan, Lieutenant of the Tristopolis police.  He’s been assigned to protect an opera singer whose death is desired by a cabal of perverted sorcerers who covet her bones.  (Trust me, it makes sense in this world.)

Like most good writers, Meaney is not just content to tell a good story.  He also looks at the themes of racial prejudice – in this case the different races have fur, scales or retractable claws – and the things we’re willing to accept to have the energy to live comfortable modern lives.   

But the story is not as striking as the world Meaney imagines. This is his description of the Archives:

“Vaults filled with obsidian sheets of runic transcriptions floating among the racks, vibrating against their tethers; strange half-physical, half-discorporated bird forms who cried out and wept as they recited the recorded conversations of long-dead men in the exact tone of voice – so the Archivists –claimed – of the original speakers.

There were pits of magma fire where the researcher could chain himself (or herself) and relive the Farseers’ visions of distant events, for as long as they could stand the pain.  There were sealed-off shafts from which subtle rustlings and the occasional inhuman groan emanated, with no explanation provided to the ordinary visitor.”  (Page 137.)

I wish archives were so interesting in our world.