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CHINATOWN_HONOLULU

                                             July 22, 2015

                                             A version of this was
                                             published here:

                                               http://www.dailykos.com/stories/2015/07/26/1405780/-Chinatown-Tour

It was something of a breakthrough for the reputation of
the Chinaman in pop fiction when Earl Der Biggers began
writing about a chinese detective named Charlie Chan in
1925, beginning with "The House Without a Key" (where
Chan is one of the heroes, though he didn't become the
central viewpoint character until the following novel in
this series of just six books).  In this novel, there
are characters who make racist remarks -- what, a
*chinese* police detective? -- but they're immediately
corrected by others.  Chan is a thoroughly positive
character, very intelligent and polite-- to <i>white</i>
people, at any rate.  An odd quirk of his character is
that he's thoroughly condescending and insulting to
Japanese people (an interesting detail, considering the
invasion of Manchuria was still 6 years in the future).
There's a decided contrast between Chan's style and that
of a white detective he works with-- the white guy is
inclined to jump to conclusions and to try to brow-beat
confessions out of witnesses.  In contrast Chan is very
cautious and restrained, a much more reasonable figure.

Though in one scene, the viewpoint character is on the
run through an area on the border of Honolulu's
Chinatown and that old familiar fear and fascination
re-emerges:

   "He passed hurriedly through a cluttered back yard and
   climbing a fence, found himself in the neighborhood
   known as the River District.  There in crazy alleys that
   have no names, no sidewalks, no beginning and no end,
   five races live together in the dark.  Some houses were
   above the walk level, some below, all were out of
   alignment.  John Quincy felt he had wandered into a
   futurist drawing.  As he paused he heard the whine and
   clatter of Chinese music, the clicking of a typewriter,
   the rasp of a cheap phonograph playing American jazz,
   the distant scream of an auto horn, a child wailing
   Japanese lamentations.  Footsteps in the yard beyond the
   fence roused him, and he fled.

   "He must get out of this mystic maze of mean alleys, and
   at once.  Odd painted faces loomed in the dusk;
   pasty-white faces with just a suggestion of queer
   costumes beneath. ... "


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