A certain imaginative excess characterizes the best science fiction and fantasy. For better or worse, the masters of these genres are rarely known for their nuances and subtleties; rather, they stand out for the sheer extravagance of their visions, their willingness to "go all in" (as the poker players describe it) no matter what the consequences.
But even by sci-fi standards, Cordwainer Smith grabs our attention for the lavishness of his imagination and the risk-taking of his storylines. Other, more sober authors might hesitate before em- bracing the over-the-top plots that were a trademark of Smith’s fiction, and his sole sci-fi novel Norstrilia is no exception. On the very first page, Cordwainer Smith makes sure you know he does nothing by halves. "The story is simple," he writes. "There was a boy who bought the planet Earth." And before the first chapter is over, readers may not understand why or how this hap- pened, but they have further learned that our hero "also bought one million women, far too many for any one boy to put to practical use, but it is not altogether certain, reader, that you will be told what he did with them."
Then in a throwaway line, Smith adds: "But he didn't want girls. He wanted postage stamps."
Welcome to the world of Cordwainer Smith—a pseudonym: our author was born as Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger in 1913—a man whose narratives travel so far beyond the conventional that, if you pushed them any further, they might come across as psychedelic visions rather than coherent tales. Remember that this was the same author whose best known short story, "Scanners Live in Vain," was rejected by editor- guru John Campbell as "too extreme"—quite a verdict coming from Campbell, who published a story describing how to make an atom bomb in the pages of Astounding more than a year before Hiroshima, attracting a swarm of FBI agents to his office, who tried to get the magazine pulled off the newsstands. Recipes for nuclear bombs might have been okay for Campbell, but when Cordwainer Smith submitted a story to him the following year, that’s where he drew the line.
Smith himself led a life of extremes. He was a brilliant thinker, holding a Ph.D. from Johns Hopkins and able to speak a half-dozen languages. Even if he had never written any sci-fi works, he would be remembered for his book on psychological warfare, and his expertise found him called upon by important parties—the U.S. Army, the British military, the CIA, even President John F. Kennedy—for advice and guidance. Yet, according to some accounts, Smith also served as the inspiration for a un- settling case study, published by Dr. Robert Lindner in 1955, which describes a strange government worker who had intense visions in which he thought he was living in outer space. As Lindner describes it his patient told him about being "Lord of a planet in an inter- planetary empire in a distant uni- verse, garbed in the robes of his exalted office." When challenged on these hallucinations, the subject simply replied: "I knew the experience was real."
If this account is actually based on the historical figure of Paul Linebarger, we can perhaps better understand the intense visionary quality of the sci-fi fiction he wrote under the name Cordwainer Smith. And if it is "too extreme," the reason may be that he experienced his stories to a degree that no other science fiction author, before or since, could match.
Smith himself was not unaware of the psychologically disturbing aspects of his storytelling. How revealing that the author’s original title for the work that became Norstrilia was Star-Craving Mad. From the very opening of the book, we are told that the protagonist, Roderick Frederick Ronald Arnold William MacArthur McBan the 151st (even the character’s name suggests a confusion of identity), has something wrong with his head. He is almost exterminated by the government at the start of the novel, for lacking the required telepathic skills that everyone else has in his society, and a revealing later interlude in the book describes his mental reworking by a humanized cat who is also the last clinical psychologist on Earth. Even given the very strange elements in the story, we can perceive linkages to first-hand experiences with psychoanalysis, as well as to a plausibly autobiographical account of a rich inner life beyond the normal or conventional.
Rod McBan lives on the planet Norstrilia (an abbreviation of Old North Australia) where a shrewd rustic population has accumulated great wealth by dealing in a life-extending product known as stroon. But even by Norstrilian standards, McBan reaps windfall profits in what would today be called an “online trading scheme.” Overnight he has become the wealthiest man in the universe, and he uses his new-found riches to buy out the original home of mankind, the planet Earth.
As if this story isn't dramatic enough, Cordwainer Smith incorporates a half-dozen or so other fanciful subplots—these involve the liberation of intelligent animals, intrigues in intergalactic politics, two romances involving our protagonist (but neither featuring the one million women mentioned above), a murderous lunatic from an aquatic planet, a sex change operation on Mars, and almost every other kind of sci- fi storyline you could cram into a two hundred page book.
If you haven’t read Smith’s short stories—gathered together in the large one-volume collection The Rediscovery of Man— you will be left puzzled at many passing references and half- explained backstory. You will simply scratch your head when characters tremble at the thought of "Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons" or extol the great "teaching of Joan"—matters that are elaborated elsewhere in Smith’s oeuvre, but just left hanging here. In general, readers who are new to this author should start with the shorter fiction, and only come to Norstrilia after familiarizing themselves with Smith’s cosmogony and worldview.
As you will come to learn, almost everything in Smith’s science fiction can be made to fit together into single grand scheme. By the same token, the scheme is maddeningly intricate, a literary house of mirrors where even adepts can lose their way. Norstrilia always seems to teeter on the edge of chaos, and while Smith manages to tie up the story and resolve the key conflicts in the final pages, the book will still strike most readers as messy and almost bizarre in its excesses.
From one perspective, Cordwainer Smith was very much a product of 1950s culture—with his Cold War obsessions and psychoanalytical positivism. Yet I sometimes wonder what would have happened to this author’s writings had he not died, at the age 53, in 1966. His late works seem to anticipate aspects of the psychedelic ‘Summer of Love’ counterculture that would take center stage in American culture in the months following his passing. I have a hunch that this author would have produced a seminal book---akin to Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land or Herbert’s Dune—that would have shaken people up and reached a new generation seeking just the kind of extravagantly liberating stories that were this author’s bread and butter.
Norstrilia, alas, is not that great novel. But in its zany energy and wild development, it gives us some sense of the angles and concepts that Smith’s never-written masterpiece might have broached. Then again, many of this author’s detailed notebooks have never surface—so perhaps there is something grand out there, waiting for (to borrow a word this author so loved) "rediscovery." Yet even on the basis of the surviving works, Cordwainer Smith is a must-read author from science fiction’s golden age and a role model for other writers who want to push their fantasies to the brink.
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