Publisher Description

Winner of the both the Edgar Award for Best Fact Crime and the CWA Non-Fiction Dagger from the author of City of Devils

Chronicling an incredible unsolved murder, Midnight in Peking captures the aftermath of the brutal killing of a British schoolgirl in January 1937. The mutilated body of Pamela Werner was found at the base of the Fox Tower, which, according to local superstition, is home to the maliciously seductive fox spirits. As British detective Dennis and Chinese detective Han investigate, the mystery only deepens and, in a city on the verge of invasion, rumor and superstition run rampant. Based on seven years of research by historian and China expert Paul French, this true-crime thriller presents readers with a rare and unique portrait of the last days of colonial Peking.

Author Biography

Paul French lives in Shanghai, where he is a business advisor and analyst He frequently comments on China for the English-speaking press around the world. French studied history, economics, and Mandarin at university and has an M.Phil in economics from the University of Glasgow.

Review

"This is a good murder story, well told, with all the additional pleasures that a knowledgeable tour guide to old China can provide. Grateful readers could scarcely ask for more."  – Joseph Kanon, author of Istanbul Passage, in The Washington Post

"Never less than fascinating… one of the best portraits of between-the-wars China that has yet been written." – The Wall Street Journal

"Midnight in Peking is both a detective story and a social history, and therefore – as it should – always keeps the hunt for Pamela's killers somewhere near the center of the narrative. [Paul French] is a wonderfully dexterous guide" – Jonathan Spence in The New York Review of Books

"A crime story set among sweeping events is reminiscent of Graham Greene, particularly The Third Man, while French's terse, tightly-focussed style has rightly been compared to Chandler. Midnight in Peking deserves a place alongside both these masters." – The Independent

"A page-turning and fascinating true crime book. This is a genre-breaker that captures the atmosphere of 1930s Peking." – The Bookseller [selected as One to Watch]

"…the most talked-about read in town this year." – The New Yorker's Page-Turner Blog

"Midnight in Peking is true-crime writing at its best, full of vivid characters, an exotic locale, secrets galore, and a truly bewildering mystery." – The Christian Science Monitor

"…A compulsively readable true crime work in the tradition of Devil in the White City." – The Atlantic.com

"Not only does Mr. French succeed in solving the crime, he resurrects a period that was filled with glitter as well as evil, but was never, as readers will appreciate, known for being dull." – The Economist

"An engrossing read" – Oprah.com

"In today's Beijing, French's portrait feels surprisingly germane." – The Los Angeles Times

"Part historical docudrama, part tragic opera… [French] tells this sorry tale with the skill of an Agatha Christie." – The Financial Times

Review Quote

"Treating his subjects with expertise and compassion, French creates a riveting portrait of the complicated tensions that existed during wartime in a city on the brink of destruction. This is a difficult book to put down!" Library Journal (starred review)

Discussion Question for Reading Group Guide

INTRODUCTION Midnight in Peking takes readers inside in the decadent final days of Peking before the cataclysm of Japanese occupation and World War II. It is a world of opium dens and brothels, of untouchable privilege and sexual predation, of ancient superstitions and modern anxieties. The year is 1937, the Japanese are closing in, Communists and Nationalists are skirmishing across the country, and Pekingers, both foreign and native, are on edge. Tensions rise dramatically when the mutilated body of Pamela Werner--the nineteen-year-old adopted daughter of E. T. C. Werner, a leading scholar of Chinese culture and history and a former diplomat--is found near the Fox Tower, just beyond the safety of the small enclave of foreigners known as the Legation Quarter. With few clues and no obvious motive, her murder, and the savage dismemberment of her body, which has been hacked nearly beyond recognition and from which the heart and liver have been removed, is both shocking and mystifying. The superstitious blame the evil fox spirits. Others fear the Japanese committed the crime as a grim warning of what was to come. British authorities want to pin it on a Chinese as quickly as possible. Bringing the killer to justice is crucial for both the British and the Chinese to save face, and in a remarkable cultural collaboration, the Chinese detective Colonel Han teams up with the Scotland Yard-trained Detective Chief Inspector Richard Dennis to solve the crime. Their investigation takes them deep into Peking''s Badlands--an area taken over by opium addicts, pimps and prostitutes, and down-and-out White Russian refugees. But the case proves frustrating, with leads that go nowhere and their investigation hampered by the British, who refuse to let DCI Dennis question anyone inside the Legation Quarter, where Pamela and her father lived. Nor are the detectives allowed to fully investigate the scandalous rumors surrounding a nudist colony run by Wentworth Prentice--a dentist and a seemingly upstanding citizen--and attended by prominent foreigners in Peking and the young women who entertained them. After the case is formally closed and his many impassioned appeals summarily turned down, seventy-year-old E. T. C. Werner decides to take matters into his own hands and mounts an investigation that eventually uncovers a truth far more horrifying than he could have imagined. He gathers evidence that Han and Dennis overlooked, asks questions they failed to ask, pokes his nose into dangerous places, and follows every possible lead as far as it will take him. And it is here that Paul French himself becomes a co-investigator with Werner. Working from Werner''s letters and other archival material--newspaper accounts, legal records, and interviews with those who knew some of the participants--he pieces together a very plausible scenario of what happened on the terrible night Pamela Werner was killed. French also deftly explores how and why it the murder was covered up. Blending narrative history and the suspense of true crime, Paul French solves this seventy-five-year-old murder case. In the process, he paints an unforgettable picture of a Peking that was about to be engulfed in war and occupation, and brings a measure of justice to an innocent young woman and the father who pursued her killers so relentlessly. ABOUT PAUL FRENCH Born in London and educated there and in Glasgow, Paul French has lived and worked in Shanghai for many years. He is a widely published analyst and commentator on China and has written a number of books dealing with China''s pre-1949 history: The Old Shanghai A-Z; Through the Looking Glass: China''s Foreign Journalists from Opium Wars to Mao; and Carl Crow--A Tough Old China Hand: The Life, Times, and Adventures of an American in Shanghai . A CONVERSATION WITH PAUL FRENCH Q. In your afterword, you write that you felt it was "important that Pamela Werner not be forgotten, and that some sort of justice, however belated, be awarded her" (p. 251). Why is it important that Pamela Warner not be forgotten? What larger significance do you ascribe to her murder and the way it was covered up? I think that unsolved murders disturb us greatly as a society. We have an inbuilt and innate sense of natural justice that likes to think that murder never goes unpunished. Of course 99.9 percent of TV crime shows, movies, and crime novels end with a neat wrap-up of the case and the murderer behind bars. Life, sadly, is just not like that. When I started writing Midnight in Peking I had no idea, only a vague hope, that I could solve the crime but I still thought it important to remember Pamela--that seemed to me the least we could do. I also felt that she was a victim of her times--a time when women did not feel they could speak out and approach the authorities when they felt threatened by predatory men for fear of their own reputations; a time when the authorities found the death of one girl a nuisance as they tried to concentrate on international politics. I think victims should always be listened to and I think nothing is more important than justice for the dead--and nothing reflects as poorly on our society than forgetting those two things. Q. In your interview on Booktopia Blog, you advise young writers never to write about anything that doesn''t completely obsess and fascinate them. Why did you become obsessed with the unsolved mystery of Pamela Werner''s murder? I wasn''t initially . . . I just thought Pamela''s story was hopelessly sad but worth telling as it took place in a fascinating and unique time, in a place that just begged to be described and written about and with a cast of characters that seemed meaty enough for a good read. Then, sitting in the British Library''s newspaper archives in London, I saw Pamela''s picture on the front page. It was the glamorous shot of her taken shortly before her murder. She looked to me like a slightly awkward girl who had flowered into a beautiful woman but she also looked like she lacked confidence, she looked a little lost in the world. When I realized that this was the last picture ever taken of Pamela alive, the obsession started--that picture of Pamela never left my thoughts for long while I was writing the book. Q. How difficult was it to piece together what actually happened? At what point in your research or writing did the truth about Pamela''s death become clear? It was a confusing process--murder investigations are, I think; they''re full of false trails and loose ends that never lead anywhere or get resolved. Agatha Christie is great fun . . . but not very realistic! I had to follow everything, as the false trails and loose ends were, for me, crucial and indicative of how Pamela''s murder lifted the lid on a nest of scandals that had been hidden within the foreign community of Peking. Then, in the U.K. National Archives, I came across a dusty old box of papers that had been sent from the British Embassy in Peking to the British Foreign Office in Whitehall during the war. There were the notes from E. T. C. Werner of his private investigation into Pamela''s death--typed up in several batches, about 150 pages in total, and with Werner''s own handwritten notes and underlinings spread throughout. I knew I had something important, and as I read it through I realized that, when cross-referenced with the police investigation, the coroner''s examination, the newspaper reports, witness statements, and gossip I''d picked up on, Werner had solved his daughter''s murder. It was a "Eureka" moment for sure, but also poignant, as I realized that with London at war, Blitzed and incredibly busy, nobody had had the time to read these notes before. They''d sat there in that file, eventually moving from Whitehall to the National Archives and waiting nearly seventy years for me to walk in, sit down, and open that box. Q. Did you enjoy playing the role of detective as you were writing the book? Did you feel you were collaborating with E. T. C. Werner? Not exactly. I felt more like someone hovering over 1937 Peking and Tientsin, looking down, trying to see through a fog and to imagine the city as it was then, on the brink of the Japanese invasion. I tried to reimagine the Legation Quarter, the Badlands, Pamela''s life in the city . . . and then the people who had murdered her. I felt that if I could just uncover enough information, find enough documents, check and recheck enough facts, and maybe find witnesses still alive, then I could see the whole picture from the perspective of the future the way the police had not been able to at the time. To talk with people who remembered the murder (now in their late eighties and nineties), to hear the gossip that went round the foreign community, was amazing--and to find small but important facts that the police at the time had not known was thrilling too. However, always the conversations and discoveries were tinged with a depressing feeling that none of it would prevent the crime that happened back in 1937. Q. How much of the decadence in Peking during the late 1930s, which your book describes so vividly, can be attributed to the impending collapse of the empire? I am personally fascinated by moments in history when civilizations, cities, and communities are clearly on the brink of monumental change--invariably for the worse. Those moments when everyone knows that things are about to come crashing down and times are about to get really bad. Of course, we never know how bad. I always loved Christopher Isherwood''s writing about Berlin in the 1930s (rendered cinematically as the film Cabaret), the wild final parties and cabarets of Weimar before the horror of the Nazis. I live in Shanghai, a city that also became

Excerpt from Book

The eastern section of old Peking has been dominated since the fifteenth century by a looming watchtower, built as part of the Tartar Wall to protect the city from invaders. Known as the Fox Tower, it was believed to be haunted by fox spirits, a superstition that meant the place was deserted at night. After dark the area became the preserve of thousands of bats, which lived in the eaves of the Fox Tower and flitted across the moonlight like giant shadows. The only other living presence was the wild dogs, whose howling kept the locals awake. On winter mornings the wind stung exposed hands and eyes, carrying dust from the nearby Gobi Desert. Few people ventured out early at this time of year, opting instead for the warmth of their beds. But just before dawn on 8 January 1937, rickshaw pullers passing along the top of the Tartar Wall, which was wide enough to walk or cycle on, noticed lantern lights near the base of the Fox Tower, and indistinct figures moving about. With neither the time nor the inclination to stop, they went about their business, heads down, one foot in front of the other, avoiding the fox spirits. When daylight broke on another freezing day, the tower was deserted once more. The colony of bats circled one last time before the creeping sun sent them back to their eaves. But in the icy wasteland between the road and the tower, the wild dogs--the huang gou - were prowling curiously, sniffing at something alongside a ditch. It was the body of a young woman, lying at an odd angle and covered by a layer of frost. Her clothing was dishevelled, her body badly mutilated. On her wrist was an expensive watch that had stopped just after midnight. It was the morning after the Russian Christmas, thirteen days after the Western Christmas by the old Julian calendar. Peking at that time had a population of some one and a half million, of which only two thousand, perhaps three, were foreigners. They were a disparate group, ranging from stiff-backed consuls and their diplomatic staff to destitute White Russians. In between were journalists, a few businessmen, some old China hands who''d lived in Peking since the days of the Qing dynasty and felt they could never leave. And there was no shortage of foreign criminals, dope fiends and prostitutes who''d somehow washed up in northern China. Peking''s foreigners clustered in and around a small enclave known as the Legation Quarter, where the great powers of Europe, America and Japan had their embassies and consulates--institutions that were always referred to as legations. Just two square acres in size, the strictly demarcated Legation Quarter was guarded by imposing gates and armed sentries, with signs ordering rickshaw pullers to slow down for inspection as they passed through. Inside was a haven of Western architecture, commerce and entertainment--a profusion of clubs, hotels and bars that could just as easily have been in London, Paris or Washington. Both the Chinese and foreigners of Peking had been living with chaos and uncertainty for a long time. Ever since the downfall of the Qing dynasty in 1911, the city had been at the mercy of one marauding warlord after another. Nominally China was ruled by the Kuomintang, or Nationalist Party, under the leadership of Chiang Kai-shek, but the government competed for power with the warlords and their private armies, who controlled swathes of territory as large as western Europe. Peking and most of northern China was a region in flux. Whatever the ferocity of the storm building outside--in Chinese Peking, in the Japanese-occupied north, across China and its 400 million people to the south--the privileged foreigners in the Legation Quarter sought to maintain their European face at all costs. More than a few foreign residents of the Legation Quarter in its heyday described themselves as inmates, but if this gated and guarded section was indeed a cage then it was a gilded one, with endless games of bridge to pass the time. Sandwiched between the legations were exclusive clubs, grand hotels and department stores. It was Europe in miniature, with European road names and electric streetlights. But lately the once-packed hotels and clubs had been a little somber, and sometimes they were half empty. In truth, the Wagons Lits and other night spots were out of date. Shanghai had better bars, had much better everything. Peking was a relic, a one-time capital that was now far too close to the Japanese war machine. The city, its foreigners and their clubs were victims of history and geography. To make matters worse, rumour had it that Chiang Kai-shek was about to cut a deal with Tokyo. Chiang had fought a long and bitter internecine battle to become leader of the Kuomintang and his position was still precarious; he had political challengers to stave off as well as the Japanese, the warlords and the Communists. Many people believed he would sacrifice Peking in order to save his own skin. The city''s inhabitants felt betrayed, expendable. The mood on the streets, of both foreign and Chinese Peking--in the crowded hutong , or alleyways, in the teeming markets where prices were rising and supplies of essentials were dwindling--was one of fear mixed with resignation. When the catastrophe did finally hit, China would be thrown into a struggle for its very survival, in what would be the opening act of the Second World War. For now foreign Peking was in an uneasy lull, on the edge of panic at times, although an alcohol-fuelled denial and the strength of the silver dollar made life more bearable for many. An American or a European could still live like a king in this city, with a life of servants, golf, races, champagne-fuelled weekend retreats in the Western Hills. The storm might be coming, but the last foreigners in Peking had battened down the hatches very comfortably. The hunt for a young woman''s killer was about to consume, and in some ways define, the cold and final days of old Peking.

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