For years, it was hard to come across Hear the Wind Sing and PinÂball 1973, HaruÂki Murakami’s first and secÂond novÂels, unless one wantÂed to pony up someÂthing between $250 and $400 at AmaÂzon for their KodanÂsha EngÂlish ediÂtions. The author has long disÂmissed them as juveÂnilÂia, though he was far from a juveÂnile at that time, and was actuÂalÂly manÂagÂing a jazz bar on the outÂskirts of Tokyo with his wife and writÂing his first works at their kitchen table. He was searchÂing for a style as a novÂelÂist, and it was once he wrote A Wild Sheep Chase that MurakaÂmi became the writer he enviÂsioned.
On August 4, Knopf will pubÂlish both novÂels in a sinÂgle volÂume with new transÂlaÂtions by Ted Goossen, so readÂers can make up their own minds on whether MurakaÂmi is being too hard on himÂself. A lot of the familÂiar MurakaÂmi eleÂments and themes are there: a nameÂless narÂraÂtor who likes his beer and smokes, cats, music, litÂerÂaÂture, spaghetÂti, mysÂteÂriÂous appearÂances and disÂapÂpearÂances, loneÂliÂness, and his poetÂic obserÂvaÂtions of nature.
Now that MurakaÂmi has relentÂed on the book’s pubÂliÂcaÂtion, he has penned an introÂducÂtion that explores the beginÂning of his writÂing career, chance deciÂsions, his someÂtimes blind search for a style, and the baseÂball game that changed his life:
I think Hiroshima’s startÂing pitchÂer that day was YoshiÂro SotokoÂba. Yakult counÂtered with Takeshi YasuÂda. In the botÂtom of the first inning, Hilton slammed Sotokoba’s first pitch into left field for a clean douÂble. The satÂisÂfyÂing crack when the bat met the ball resoundÂed throughÂout JinÂgu StaÂdiÂum. ScatÂtered applause rose around me. In that instant, for no reaÂson and on no grounds whatÂsoÂevÂer, the thought sudÂdenÂly struck me: I think I can write a novÂel.
I can still recall the exact senÂsaÂtion. It felt as if someÂthing had come flutÂterÂing down from the sky, and I had caught it cleanÂly in my hands. I had no idea why it had chanced to fall into my grasp. I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. WhatÂevÂer the reaÂson, it had takÂen place. It was like a revÂeÂlaÂtion. Or maybe epiphany is the closÂest word. All I can say is that my life was drasÂtiÂcalÂly and perÂmaÂnentÂly altered in that instant—when Dave Hilton beltÂed that beauÂtiÂful, ringÂing douÂble at JinÂgu StaÂdiÂum.
After the game (Yakult won as I recall), I took the train to ShinÂjuku and bought a sheaf of writÂing paper and a founÂtain pen. Word procesÂsors and comÂputÂers weren’t around back then, which meant we had to write everyÂthing by hand, one charÂacÂter at a time. The senÂsaÂtion of writÂing felt very fresh. I rememÂber how thrilled I was. It had been such a long time since I had put founÂtain pen to paper.
Each night after that, when I got home late from work, I sat at my kitchen table and wrote. Those few hours before dawn were pracÂtiÂcalÂly the only time I had free. Over the six or so months that folÂlowed I wrote Hear the Wind Sing. I wrapped up the first draft right around the time the baseÂball seaÂson endÂed. InciÂdenÂtalÂly, that year the Yakult SwalÂlows bucked the odds and almost everyone’s preÂdicÂtions to win the CenÂtral League penÂnant, then went on to defeat the PacifÂic League chamÂpiÂons, the pitchÂing-rich HanÂkyu Braves in the Japan Series. It was truÂly a miracÂuÂlous seaÂson that sent the hearts of all Yakult fans soarÂing.
You can read the rest of Murakami’s introÂducÂtion over at Lithub. And pre-order the new transÂlaÂtion of Wind/Pinball here.
RelatÂed ConÂtent:
Ted Mills is a freeÂlance writer on the arts who curÂrentÂly hosts the FunkZone PodÂcast. You can also folÂlow him on TwitÂter at @tedmills, read his othÂer arts writÂing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.
