“For those who have fallen in love with it over the years, however, it is some of the most powerful science fiction ever written. It is the kind of fiction that, as C.S. Lewis once wrote, becomes part of the reader’s personal iconography.”

– John J. Pierce on the work of Cordwainer Smith

“Cordwainer Smith” was the pseudonym of Paul M.A. Linebarger, an American who grew up in China, Japan, Germany and France. He was a multilingual diplomat and expert on the Far East, diplomacy and psychological warfare. In his spare time he enjoyed writing science fiction and fantasy – his big break came with the story “Scanners Live In Vain,” published in 1950. He followed it up with “The Game of Rat and Dragon.” His body of work has always been somewhat underappreciated by the general public, but it includes some of the most exuberantly creative and mythic sf of the 20^th century, which influenced a whole generation of writers.

Oh, and one other thing: in 1960, six years before his death at age fifty-three, he became a devout Christian.

“The Dead Lady of Clown Town” is likely my favourite out of Smith’s stories even though it’s got some great competition. I’ve never been able to read it all the way through without getting teary-eyed. I am convinced that it is one of the greatest 20^th century examples of speculative faith.

In the far future, humans live in a clean, predictable and utterly moribund culture, pampered by computers and robots. Most of the heavy work is done by underpeople. These are animals genetically engineered to have intelligence and speech, designed for a wide variety of dirty, dangerous and thankless tasks. They have no rights whatsoever, and are ‘terminated’ with casual contempt whenever humans deem it necessary. But the underpeople have delved deep into the ruins and cultures which humans have forgotten or discarded, and found dangerous ideas. One of these ideas is a religion, the symbol of which is a fish. It is a religion which tells the underpeople that they matter, that they are loved.

The first half of “Dead Lady” is mythic and dream-like, despite its science fiction grounding – a witch-woman discovers her destiny in a hidden fairy tale city; love at first sight with a telepath; and, indeed, the dead lady of the title, who now inhabits a computer, prophesying a new order of things.

But throughout, Smith drops hints indicating that the story being told is an historical one.

“Much later, when people made songs about the strange case of the dog-girl D’joan, they minstrels and singers had tried to imagine…”

“Poets later tried to describe Elaine at the door…”

“Most of you have seen paintings or theatricals upon this scene. The most famous of all is, beyond doubt, the fantastic “one-line drawing” of San Shigonanda…”

As the story progresses, Smith steadily ratchets up the realism and the pressure – this is no longer a fairy tale. It is still mythic, but in a gritty, tragic way, the way a pivotal historical event is. Nevertheless, Smith’s prose is dazzling throughout – even descriptions of minor characters or offhand details can be strikingly creative or downright beautiful.

The songs and paintings give way to brief video recordings and photos, and Smith makes you feel their fearful, momentous weight. He hints that these are recordings which have been pored over for years, like the film of JFK’s assassination, or those first grainy shots of the planes hitting the Twin Towers.

But what is it that is so momentous? What is the story essentially about?

It is about the martyrdom of a Christian saint and her followers. It is about underpeople proving their personhood through love, in the face of death; robots, becoming aware of their own existence and then disobeying immoral orders; humans realizing the futility of their banal, pleasure-seeking lives in the face of such piety, moral courage, and selfless love.

Among other things, it’s the story of Joan of Arc, of the first Christian congregations, of the struggle of the oppressed Chinese masses, and the American Civil rights movement. And because every saint is a reflection, an echo, of Christ, this is also (a facet of) the story of Jesus.

That is why it is hard to neatly summarize or explain the painful beauty and profundity of “The Dead Lady of Clown Town.” What could be so momentous about the brief sermons of some obscure spiritual leader? Of a short-lived revolution of love? Or indeed, of the painful death of a rabble-rousing criminal?

This is why you need to read it for yourself.