The characterization of Judge Dee presented one difficulty, namely that according to the time-honored Chinese tradition the detective may not show any human weaknesses, and never allow himself to become emotionally involved in the cases he deals with. Since personally I have little use for the completely aloof, superhuman detective, I tried to reach for Judge Dee a compromise between the "superman" dictated by Chinese tradition, and a more human type of person preferred by me—and probably by many readers, too. I tried to achieve this compromise by stressing those traits in Judge Dee which are felt by us as shortcomings, while the old-fashioned Chinese reader, on the contrary, takes those same traits for granted, or even considers them as virtues. I mention, for instance, Judge Dee's ultra-Confucianist mental attitude, including a narrow-minded view of poetry and painting; his unshakable conviction that everything Chinese is ipso facto superior, and his consequent disdain for the "foreign barbarians"; his prejudice against Buddhism and Taoism, although those are much more elevated in thought than Confucianism, which is in fact a rule of conduct rather than a religion; etc. Further, Judge Dee's taking for granted that filial piety implies that daughters meekly let their parents sell them as prostitutes; his condoning torture, and the general maltreatment of men and women before his bench, and his conforming without protest to the laws that prescribe various methods of capital punishment of inhuman cruelty. Stressing these and like points helped to present Judge Dee as a real person. Glossing them over would have been tantamount to falsifying the historical picture, for in ancient China even high-minded and progressive men had ethical standards in many respects different from ours. Yet we should be careful in passing judgment on cruder manners and morals of other times. When I consider the remarkable achievements of modern man in wholesale torture and murder in concentration camps, and especially in mass destruction of human life as made possible by the latest progress in mechanical warfare, I cannot help thinking that most of the cruelties committed in former ages were only the clumsy efforts of rank amateurs.
When the novel had been written, there still remained the task of devising an introductory episode covertly indicating the story's main events. I retained this interesting feature of most old Chinese novels, chiefly because it supplied me with a convenient means for introducing the reader to the Chinese atmosphere; for there will not be many readers who after having finished the novel have time and inclination for rereading the beginning. The device was invented for the delectation of the Chinese reader of a former age, who considered all haste as a fundamental error, and was wont to read and reread his novels from beginning to end, tracing the plot in every detail. It may be added that these introductory episodes are supposed to have happened in the Ming dynasty, say circa a.d. 1600; that is to say about three hundred and fifty years ago, and about nine hundred years after Judge Dee's time. I also retained the Chinese custom of placing an edifying poem at the beginning of the book, and also the chapter headings in two more or less parallel lines.
Although I generally followed in my novels the old Chinese tradition, I deviated from it in two important points. First, in my novels the criminal's identity is revealed only at the end. Old Chinese crime stories, on the contrary, betray this important secret at the beginning; the subsequent detailed description of the moves and countermoves of detective and criminal provided the sedate Chinese reader with an enjoyment comparable to that derived from watching a game of chess. I thought that in this respect I had to make a concession to the modern Oriental and Western reader. Second, I kept the number of dramatis personae limited to about two dozen. Old Chinese novels as a rule have a cast at least ten times that size. This does not bother the Chinese reader, who has a prodigious memory for names and a sixth sense for family relationships, and who therefore likes his novels to be generously populated. Since one cannot expect the same from the modern Western reader, in my novels I kept to casts of a more modest size and, moreover, spelled their names in such a manner as to be fairly easily remembered. Some readers, however, have remarked that even these limited casts are too large. In the new series of Judge Dee novels I am now preparing I therefore use a cast of only about twelve.
It was my aim to acquaint the reader with all the clues Judge Dee and his assistants discover, so that a—largely hypothetical!—reader who would study the novel line by line with a pad and pencil at hand, would be able to work out for himself the final solution. At the same time I thought it my good right to gloss over those clues by the various approved means.
As regards the style of my novels, I followed the Chinese tradition that a novel must be written in a simple, factual prose, and that descriptive passages must be limited to the absolute minimum. Chinese novelists concentrated on exciting action and deft dialogue, always remembering the main rule governing all forms of Chinese literary expression: "Say much in few words." Thus also in the matter of style I am greatly indebted to my Chinese predecessors in crime fiction.
Finally, I may say a few words about a delicate subject, namely the supernatural element. In old Chinese crime literature ghosts and goblins roam freely about, dogs, cats, spiders, monkeys and even kitchen utensils prove to possess the faculty of speech and deliver testimony in court. Such traits are, of course, incompatible with the modern principle that a detective novel should be as realistic as possible. However, I thought that a discreet use of this traditional Chinese element would not offend the reader, including those who hold more decided views on these matters than I. Since we of the present know little more about supernatural phenomena than did Judge Dee twelve hundred years ago, I prefer to sum up here the main supernatural traits of my five novels in the form of open questions, leaving it to the reader to decide what actually happened.
Did the sanctimonious collector of Sung celadon who narrates the opening episode of The Chinese Bell Murders really see in the old mirror all those frightful happenings? Or had he been sickening for a malicious fever that reached a crisis during his visit to the curio shop? In the latter case it is only natural that his interest in Judge Dee, and his affection for his two concubines (Apricot and Blue Jade of the novel), figured largely in his subsequent delirious visions.
Did the student of crime literature who appears in the opening episode of The Chinese Maze Murders really meet a descendant of Judge Dee in the restaurant on the Lotus Pond, or did he only have there a dream wherein the persons he had seen passing by occupied an important place? And did Master Crane Robe in Chapter XIX of that same novel possess esoteric knowledge, or were the clues Judge Dee obtained in his abode only the logical consequence of the Master's close association with the dead Governor?
The depraved Inspector who is introduced in the first pages of The Chinese Lake Murders was through an emotional conflict in such an unbalanced state of mind that he even contemplated suicide. Did his finding the dead body of a beautiful woman—who for some reason or other had drowned herself—bring him under the delusion that she was alive and told him the details of his own nefarious plot ? Or was it the vengeful ghost of Almond Blossom who took possession of the corpse and thereafter haunted her victim till he died, broken in mind and body?