explore the legacy of inherited family traits and the difficulty of breaking away." Grey compared "the way that Au injects matter-of-fact descriptions with existential angst" to "Albert Camus." Claire Messud of Harper's Magazine similarly discussed the Au's writing style and the impact of that style: "The tenor of the narration is hardly effusive. Yet the effect is of the gentle quiet of snowfall, rather than the lethal frigidity of an icicle ... Au's is a book of deceptive simplicity, weaving profound questions of identity and ontology into the fabric of quotidian banality ... Not much happens in Au's novel...but nonetheless, significant emotions, memories, and thoughts are meaningfully conveyed. What matters, the novel reassures us, is constantly imbricated with the everyday, just as alienation and tender care can coexist in the same moment." Financial Times's Baya Simons said, "Au's prose is precise and finely grained ... This makes the occasional imprecision — an unexplained switch in subject, a simile that doesn't land — feel deflating, disillusioning even. Furthermore, her close narration style and a lack of dialogue give rise to a sense of claustrophobia: what is not being said?" The Sydney Morning Herald's Declan Fry wrote, "One of the novella's neat turns lies in how precisely and matter-of-factly it narrates events that are – as we come to realise – anything but ... There is the sense, too, that as Au cultivates her own voice – one that could belong to no one else; a voice she seems so far to have withheld from us, if not herself – we will see the full emergence of her talent." Publishers Weekly provided a mixed review, saying, "Some readers will find their patience tried by the vague Tokyo episodes, but Au exquisitely conjures the family's nebulous past, and is at her best when folding in the perspectives of other family members. Once this probing and surprising text catches hold, it leaves the reader with lingering questions." The Irish Times also proffered a mixed review, saying, Cold Enough for Snow is a strange, slim volume, written in gentle, sometimes graceful, prose ... there's a sadistic aspect to [the main] character, and her diligent perfectionism proves wearisome ... Generally, with such an unreliable narrator, a reader is at least fascinated by their perspective, or the story itself. Unfortunately, although this character's mixture of heightened self-awareness and total obliviousness is curious, it's never quite interesting enough