Behind that
Curtain - Earl Derr Biggers
This novel is the third Charlie Chan mystery. San Francisco is evocatively described so we
readers can enjoy the vivid sense of place Biggers put across in the first two
Chan outings. He handled the setting of Hawaii beautifully in the first one The House Without a Key (1925) and
described the Mojave desert country in the second The Chinese Parrot (1926).
Like all the other Chan novels, this was originally
published as a serial in the magazine The Saturday Evening Post, so some
chapters end with cliffhangers. The plot is intricate, involving murders
committed years apart and a woman who changes identities at the drop of a hat.
Or in this case, the drop of a pair of Chinese slippers, which is the only clue
that ties the two killings together.
Another plus is Biggers’ understated sense of comedy. His
stand-in who gets off witty observations, Barry Kirk, is a rich bon-vivant who
has funny exchanges with his society matron grandmother and his would-be
girlfriend, an assistant district attorney named Miss Morrow. Biggers is
sensitive to the career obstacles faced by working women, though he will often
refer to Miss Morrow as “the girl.” Biggers was born in 1885, after all.
Activists and critics nowadays disrespect poor Charlie
Chan for his inscrutability, servility, dainty walk, sing-song voice, and
unidiomatic English (in Behind That
Curtain, he says, “The facts must be upearthed”). Writer Gish Jen even
dismisses Chan’s astute intelligence, designating him as “the original Asian
whiz kid.” I wonder sometimes if nowadays critics are annoyed with Chan less
because of the novels but more because of the movies which had Caucasian actors
playing Chan and period stereotypes of blacks, Asians, and women.
For what it’s worth, I think in both the novels and
movies Charlie Chan is wise, courageous, modest, patient, devoted to his
family, and loyal to his friends. Like many non-native speakers, he uses
English in his own unique way that, as a speaker of broken Japanese, I can’t
help but respect him for the time and effort that he put in to get fluent in a
second language as an adult. The Chan novels overturn Chinese stereotypes
because Chan was playing the role of the Good Guy, whereas most Chinese
characters in fiction back then were villains.
Generally speaking, I like detective fiction from 1920s and 1930s. As formulaic as it is, I like the atmosphere,
characterization, and narrative push. I like it that violence happens off
stage. There is little or no moral relativism, film noir-ish nihilism or
sociopathic tough-mindedness. I must not
be alone in this preference – for once –
since the Chan novels never stay out of print and are available on these
new-fangled contraptions like Kindle.
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