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Murakami called this work his kitchen-table novel because he wrote it at his kitchen table, in the early morning hours after long nights at work. It is suffused with that sense of sunrises, the mortal coil, jazz bars, coffee and cigarettes. The writing feels like a tentative beginning; It feels like a new relationship, uncertain and floundering at times, but with moments of brilliance, and without a doubt there is a spark.

Hear the Wind Sing is special for two reasons:
1) It is Murakami's first work; if it hadn't been published he probably would have never written anything else.
2) It's also the first in the Rat trilogy.

Hear the Wind Sing, while Murakami's freshman offering, is already submersed in his signature style. There is no plot, only musings and anecdotes. It feels like floating along a lazy stream of occurrences and conversation on a hot day, almost like a fever dream or a mirage in a desert. Let yourself be carried along the stream, reminisce on summers long past, close your eyes and drift backwards in time.

Some of the trademarks Murakami enhances in later works are played with coyly in this one: We've got mention of cats, weird women, weird ideas about sex, philosophical musings, late nights and introspective moments. The sense of ennui is haunting and permeates the page; it bled over to me, reminding me of the mundanity of life, of the little moments.

Hear the Wind Sing is evocative of another time, a simpler time but also a darker time. Life and death and the agency that humans have in both are ruminated on. The mystery of suicide, the mystery of life, the sadness that people carry and the communication barrier that seems to exist around these topics.

As always with Murakami, the writing is infused both with a sense of calm but also with a wit and strangeness that is reminiscent of Vonnegut. Theres also mention of Ray Bradbury, and his influence is on this one as well.

I can't speak to everything he has written because as it stands now (Jan 2023) I've only read four other works by Murakami: Norwegian Wood, After Dark, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.

Overall Hear the Wind sing is a mediocre offering in what is otherwise an intriguing and frequently mesmerizing oeuvre. It isn't his best, but even so there is something transformative about Murakami's prose, that lends itself to rereading and self reflection.

This is the kind of book you read with a plate of spaghetti, a jazz record, a drink, a sunrise on the horizon.