This was my first Murakami and I understand it's an early work but:

--As science fiction, I found it rather ponderous.

--As a novel, it lacked characterization.

--I was immediately whacked over the head by the narrator's casual sexism (oh look, a fat girl who unexpectedly gives me a hard-on. Let's just call her "the chubby girl" for the rest of the book and pretend I'm chivalrous for not sleeping with her because she's 17.)

--the plot seemed like a big McGuffin.

Overall the writing was occasionally lovely but often unpolished (translator may be at fault here). Some nice descriptive passages and perceptions, but the dialog is like a parody, swinging between curt Chandleresque hard-boiledness (see title), information dumps, and speeches. There's a painful chapter where the narrator goes on a date and helpfully lists the full Italian name of every dish ordered, plus all the liquor brands, and lectures his companion on cooking. He and his date discuss their love of jazz, and she mentions in passing that her husband who also loved jazz was bludgeoned to death on the bus with an iron vase, to which he replies "why did the kid have an iron vase?" Then they continue the date as if nothing upsetting happened! Just awful. I am surprised this isn't mentioned in any of the worshipful reviews.