Cordwainer Smith was an odd anomaly of his time in the world of SF. An expert on East Asia and the author of a pretty well regarded book on psychological warfare, he basically wrote SF in his spare time (along with some other scattered novels under other pen names) and didn't accumulate many of them in his somewhat short life (he died in his early fifties in 1966) . . . all of his short SF works can be found in a single six-hundredish page volume and he only had one slim SF novel to his credit.
But what sets his writing apart from his peers who were operating in the genre at the time was his dedication to a very wide-spanning and elaborate future history featuring what he called "The Instrumentality" . . . pretty much all of his stories can be set somewhere on that chronology which he had seemed to work out to a fairly thorough extent. But if all he was capable of doing was coming up with great ideas for a future history that wouldn't have been too notable, bargain basement SF and fantasy authors do that kind of thing all the time. Without having the stories to back up the weight of the history, he probably would have faded into obscurity (well, more than he already has . . . while he's highly regarded among people familiar with the history of the genre, it's not like he's a household name) but those stories do exist and they are strange things, infused with an off-kilter sensibility that can be oddly playful or vicious in equal measure and featuring that seems to be truly alien, as weird to us as this century would be for someone born a hundred years ago and transplanted suddenly into today.
The best place to experience him is probably in the short stories but with only this novel to his credit it's fair to say that pretty much everything he did is worth exploring. Reading the short stories first probably will expose you to that history and let you settle in easier but in my case I read the novel first (hey, it was shorter) and while some people seemed to have issues settling into the setting, it didn't throw me too much. Smith tends to write in an elusive, strangely roundabout style that feels ahead of its time but never self-consciously literary or stiflingly academic. He's not experimenting or being overly lyrical for the sake of trying to impress us with his education, it seems that he found this was the best way to tell the story. It feels much less forced than later attempts in the 60s and 70s by other authors to prove that incomprehensible writing was the sign of great intelligence and that being willfully obscure was no longer purely the domain of post-modern writers.
Smith presents his tale at the start as almost mythology and one gets the sense that he's immersed his characters in traditions that long pre-date them and are the result of strange societal circumstances. To that end, we encounter the planet of Norstilia, an out of the way world where everyone lives forever thanks to their ill sheep (as goofy as this sounds, the novel plays it straight and succeeds brilliantly at it). The production of this immortality granting substance has made everyone on the planet stupidly rich but thanks to extraordinarily high taxes nobody lives like an endless production of "Wolf of Wall Street" but basically makes their living as ranchers with noble titles. Because of this longevity some decisions have to be made, and there's a test all the young have to go through where if they fail they're poisoned in such a way that they die in hysterics, so at least they go happy. Oh, and everyone's telepathic.
This is all background for the novel that Smith manages to convey in about twenty pages, with a lyrical economy that is quite stunning. Other authors would have based entire series around this scenario but he merely uses as the jumping off point to show us Rod McBan, who after passing the test after his third attempt (thanks to wonky telepathy), manages to become the richest person of all time by basically gaming the stock market and appears to buy the entire planet Earth in the process. Being a proud new owner and needing to get briefly out of Dodge, he heads over to Earth to find that being rich is a little more complicated than having a lot of money and gives the Instrumentality some headaches in the process.
One thing interesting about the novel is that for a relatively simple plot (it boils down to Rod becomes richer than he expects, has some adventures on Earth and feels bad about screwing someone over who is trying to kill him and seeks to make it right) Smith invests it with a lot of complexities, not only from the differences in the societies of the two planets but even within the planets themselves . . . Earth features "underpeople" basically augmented animals and everything is fairly stratified unless you're somehow affiliated with the Instrumentality in which case it sort of shifts how everyone reacts to each other. The underpeople alone could probably populate their own volume (and probably feature in some of the short stories) but we spend a lot of time here with them while Rod gets turned into one so he can go into disguise (he also gets chopped up for shipping purposes but seems cool with that). Meanwhile we're treated to interludes in various segments of society (or back in Norstrilia) to give a more complete picture of what's going on (along the lines of what John Brunner often did) and what impresses is how completely Smith seems to have worked everything out . . . all the background material seems to extend off the edges of the pages, as in the best fictional worlds and even the moments that seem to be satirical (the intersections of the economies and how Rod may not be as rich as he thinks he is) have a weight to them.
On the surface the tale is a lark, with the drama sometimes seeming episodic (perhaps reflecting how long it took him to write it . . . it was eventually published as two separate volumes, one of them posthumously) but there's an underlying seriousness to the affair that suggests even if the story never seems to be taking itself seriously (for all his travails, Rod never really loses his cool and maintains a steady aura of pluck and confidence) the transpired events are serious indeed (if the story can be "about" anything, it's as much about the underpeople trying to be recognized as more than second-class citizens and the efforts of some of the Instrumentality to take advantage of the chaos Rod causes to further that end), as are all their resolutions. Even Rod's inability to properly use telepathy is treated as nearly crippling in a society where such things have evolved to be nearly commonplace.
For all its seeming simplicity, there's a scope to it that demands closer reading. It's rare that SF from this era is this immersive and this strange yet clear enough in how it relates to us. It brings us a future that is alive in every way, one that we glimpse the smallest fragment of its numberless dramas and lets us be content with that, while it continuously spreads out of our view both forwards and backwards. To that end, the ending is perhaps the starkest slap of all, calm yet heartstoppingly sad and not tragic at all in this context. Because as lighthearted as this story can be on the surface, as much fun as everyone seems to be having at times (he's big on songs and poetry, most of which is not bad), the ending seems to take place in a field as wide as forever where the gathering of everyone you know is still very small indeed compared to it, and reminds us of the one fact that we all have to endure, now and in the future, in light or in darkness, on our street or in a world so far away that we can't even see where we once came from: life goes on no matter what and sometimes it isn't very fair. But it's the same for us all, and that's the fairest thing about it.