Author Radha Vatsal’s newest historical crime novel, ‘No. 10 Doyers Street’, is set against the backdrop of New York City’s Chinatown in the early 1900s. Radha’s novels consistently feature female journalists who courageously report on crime while navigating the ruthless world of tabloids. Now, Radha seeks to expand the role and explore little known NYC history through a feminist and immigrant perspective. The protagonist is based on a real South Asian immigrant woman who wrote about her experience in the late 19th Century.
Archana Morely knows what it’s like to be an outsider. As a woman from India making her way through the cutthroat world of tabloid newspapers, she’s always on the lookout for untold stories. Archana is bold, walking through the streets wearing trousers and knocking on the doors of gangsters and the elite. When Archana becomes embroiled in a case involving the infamous gangster Mock Duck and his young daughter, she soon realizes that the case could be tied to the mayor’s plan to raze Chinatown.
Radha offers an original pan-Asian exploration of New York City history, bringing to life the challenges immigrants faced as the city made way for the modern era. Archana embarks on a quest for the truth that leads her from gritty alleys to the back-room politics of City Hall and beyond. She boldly reports Mock Duck’s story, understanding that her colleagues simply see an immigrant criminal, and not a father fighting for his daughter and home.
Inspired by real events, ‘No. 10 Doyers Street’ is a gripping crime novel about New York City on the cusp of modernity, as seen through a unique immigrant perspective. Scroll below to read an excerpt from this fascinating novel!
Chapter 1 excerpt from ‘No. 10 Doyers Street’, by Radha Vatsal
The bump in the road came out of nowhere. Or rather, everywhere. Constant use and shoddy repairs had left the streets and sidewalks cratered and veined. But usually, I kept my wits about me. Usually, I didn’t trip and have to catch myself. That day, however, a swarm of newsmen buzzing uptown grabbed my attention. I waited a few seconds for them to pass, and then followed, a small, matchstick-like figure in trousers, jacket, and a hat, scarcely worthy of notice.
The skies were still light, and vendors were out. The air had lost winter’s sting, and spring was beginning to take hold. I kept the newshounds in my sights as I dodged the crowds. Something out of the ordinary must have taken place. Whatever it was, it would make a welcome change from the Thaw trial,
which we’d been covering morning, noon, and night for nearly a year.
The pressmen streamed past City Hall and the Tweed Courthouse, past the sumptuous Hall of Records and the Brooklyn Bridge. They continued beneath the elevated railroad tracks, skipped Mott Street, and hooked a quick left on Doyers.
No more than a few hundred feet long and maybe ten or twelve feet wide, the street hung from Pell like a sock on a line, bent sharply at the heel, and emptied out onto Chatham Square and the Bowery.
The newsmen slowed as they approached the curve. It was known as the “Bloody Angle” because it had been the site of so many shootings.
A lone copper stood on guard in front of wooden double doors below a metal fire escape. Locals milled around outside, ashen-faced and in silence. A sign read: Chinese Opera House. The newsmen went in.
The copper looked me up and down.
I’d never covered the district—my editor believed it wasn’t a job for a woman.
“And you are?” the lawman asked.
“With the Observer.” A scrappy, by-your-bootstraps rag to be sure, but not unknown among New York’s dozens of dailies.
He frowned, muttered something under his breath, but grudgingly stepped aside, allowing me to enter.
Once inside, it took a few moments to adjust to the dim light; then I made out the scene: a stage had been set for a performance. But the ornate backdrop painted with soaring trees and a gold palace had been punctured with bullet holes—so many that it almost looked intentional. Benches placed in neat rows for the audience had toppled helter-skelter, shattered glass glittered. Bodies lay sprawled on the floor. I counted four. They were pooled in their own blood, eyes wide open.
I rested my head against one of the metal columns, trying to breathe, while coppers replied to the newsmen’s questions.
“The On Leongs and Hips—at each other’s throats again.”
“In the middle of a performance?”
“That’s right. But this time, they’ve crossed the line. The theater’s
supposed to be neutral territory.”
“Do we know who fired first?”
“The Hips.”
“Who planned the attack?”
Cackles in the gloom.
There was no need to answer.
Radha Vatsal is the author of the acclaimed ‘Kitty Weeks’ mystery novels set in World War I-era New York. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, The Atlantic, and the Los Angeles Review of Books. Born and raised in Mumbai, India, she earned her Ph.D. in Film History from Duke University and has worked as a film curator, political speechwriter, and freelance journalist. She lives in New York City. Visit her website at www.radhavatsal.com.
