Book Review: Sun Shining on Morning Snow

A deeply reflective account of identity, tracing a decades-long journey through race, gender, sexuality, and the complicated, often unfinished search for belonging.

In this book, author Ingrid Hu Dahl invites us into her innermost world, beginning not just with her childhood, but with her origin story. We come to understand her multifaceted identity as it develops over the course of the narrative, first by meeting her parents and understanding the context in which she came to be. As she recounts some of her earliest memories, she identifies the early hints of who she would eventually become. 

From a young age, she felt othered by virtue of being biracial in communities that, at best, noticed, and at worst, judged harshly:

“Options staring back at me: white, black, Asian, Hispanic, OTHER. That word, in bold as if proclaiming its stronghold on my identity, was my only option. I am other, and a spotlight always followed.”

In response—and perhaps simply because it’s what people do—she sought belonging in ways that made sense to her. As readers, we follow her journey in and out of various communities. We watch her first foray into an identity-based community through horseback riding, where she excelled and connected on a deeply satisfying level. Until she no longer did.

In her adolescent experimentation and search for identity, we see her grapple with the realities of the world around her in ways that, for many, will feel deeply familiar. She has no choice but to reckon with the socialization of gender, particularly as her father becomes protective in a way that leads her to understand “the concept of women needing protection, by men from men.” She recalls grappling with girlhood, and in particular, the challenge of friendships that don’t fit: “I was tired of girls who chose boys over our friendship. I was tired of the popularity game, the mean girl culture, and the unrelenting power of gossip.”

All the while, her family unit, once a great source of comfort, becomes an arbiter of expectations: 

“My presence wasn’t contributing to the kind of happy nuclear family he and Ma craved, and perhaps needed. Their desire to have this picture-perfect family seemed connected to justifying all their hardships and difficulties—proving their hardship had been worth it.”

In college, Ingrid finds her footing in the music scene in a way that feels almost accidental but proves transformative. In finding the arts, she finds herself and, over time, begins to both understand and make peace with her identity as a mixed-race queer woman.

As is true for many, her grappling with identity doesn’t end with personal acceptance; there remains the complicated relationship with family. Her parents experience a cognitive dissonance that may feel familiar: they do not seem to recognize that they are reliving and repeating cycles that once harmed them, now righteously enacted upon their own children. As readers, we benefit from hindsight, needing only to continue reading to see that she eventually finds her way to both self-acceptance and a more harmonious relationship with her family.

Ingrid Hu Dahl’s reflective storytelling is raw and forthcoming in a way that compelled me to look at photographs of young Ingrid, woven throughout the book, and wish I could tell her that she would, in fact, be okay. She tells her story in a way that is deeply inspiring; while it is distinctly her own, her feelings, lessons learned, and reflections resonate so broadly that her story begins to feel like maybe it is all of ours, too.

While telling her story, Ingrid also weaves in a perspective on intersectionality that is both welcoming and expansive. She invites empathy and relatability, whatever your identity might be; just because you don’t share her exact experience does not mean you can’t understand, relate, or belong. She seems to ask, “This has been my experience. Have you felt it, too?”

Through this book, Ingrid successfully communicates a message of belonging that can only come from her extensive and ultimately successful search for the same. What lingers after the final page is the quiet recognition that the search for belonging is messy, painful, and deeply human.