The first of the Charlie Chan novels is more sophisticated than I had imagined. Yes, it performs all the tasks that its genre requires—and more. But, formally speaking, it's also interesting. At its beginning, the settings are described lushly, and the conversations and meetings within them accordingly are gently paced and well developed—all the better for the exposition of plot and characters, of course. Still, it's all reflective of the exotic tropical climate of Hawaii in which things are set. As things move along, however, not only does the speed of the plot increase; so does the formal narrative. Conversations become clipped. Scenes change abruptly—almost like a jump cut in a film. And conversations are compressed and sometimes signaled more than revealed. Until the climax, when all returns to the languid state at which things opened.
Not a bad novel, then. I understand that Earl Derr Biggers vacationed in Hawaii shortly after World War I, and this was the inspiration for the book. If so, Biggers likely dug a little more deeply than the islands' paradisaical surface appearance. His story is filled with allusions to the South Seas of the 1880s and blackbirding, piracy, shipwrecks, and acts of mutiny. This is the stuff of Louis Becke, the prolific novelist (and trader and journalist) of 19th century South Seas adventure stories. Becke provided the grist for the mill of South Seas writing. Everyone that followed in his wake would owe some measure of their knowledge to Becke. I'm guessing Biggers did, too. As well, Biggers was probably familiar with more writers contemporary to his era, such as Frederick O'Brien, whose influential first book, White Shadows in the South Seas, appeared in 1919, just as Biggers was making his way to Hawaii. The movie version of O'Brien's book was a major feature of 1928, three years after Biggers published The House Without a Key. O'Brien's book was a lament for the lost culture and innocence of Polynesia, which he believed was corrupted through the arrival of White people. More than a wisp of this blows through Biggers' novel as well. And, of course, there are Jack London's Hawaii stories, based on his visits to the islands in 1907 and 1915. These dealt with everything from the plight of lepers to the social divisions between the colonizers of Hawaii and its natives, something else that features in Biggers' first Charlie Chan novel.
This is the setting for The House Without a Key. Throw in the contemporaneous topics of prohibition and the presence of frustrated flappers, and you have a novel that fits its decade, the 1920s, perfectly. This is a wonderful snapshot of Hawaii before World War II.
Not to be forgotten, of course, is the character of Charlie Chan himself. Biggers made something of a breakthrough with Chan, representing him as an exceedingly competent professional who has the respect of everyone around him. This includes the new friend he makes, John Quincy Winterslip, the young Boston Brahmin come to fetch his spinster aunt back to the proper society of New England. The novel thus not only recognizes a merger of social classes but one of race as well. For Biggers, while often succumbing to Chinese and Asian stereotypes of his time (“Chinaman” and “Jap” and the use of broken English), nonetheless raises his hero to a position of authority. Biggers makes mention of Hawaii being the real melting pot. Although that clearly isn't true in the broadest sense in the novel, there is the beginnings of it.
Finally, while I describe Chan as the hero of the novel, he is actually a secondary character not introduced until a quarter of the way through the book. Winterslip is the protagonist. But the interaction between Chan and Winterslip is the engine that drives the story.
Biggers died young, aged 48, in 1933. There are only six books in the Charlie Chan series. A pity.