The stories that shape us

Lost Legacies: Learning from Ancestral Stories for Inspiration and Policy-Making Today
by Margaret V. Ostrowski

Montreal West: DC Books, 2024
$21.95  /  9781927599624

Reviewed by Amy Tucker

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Margaret V. Ostrowski’s Lost Legacies is an eloquent and timely meditation on immigration, memory, and the power of untold stories. Part memoir, part historical reflection, and part social analysis, the book traces the journey of Ostrowski’s Polish-Canadian family—especially her grandmother’s 1914 immigration to Canada—while also posing larger questions about who gets remembered and why.

This book is for anyone who has ever wondered about their ancestors, questioned how national narratives are formed, or felt the quiet pull of history in everyday life. It is intended for genealogists, historians, educators, and students of migration studies—but also for readers who want to understand their origins and why those roots matter. In an era when public discourse around immigration is often politicized and oversimplified, Lost Legacies offers a thoughtful and profoundly human counterpoint. I would recommend it to anyone interested in family history, Canadian identity, or the forgotten resilience of immigrant women. As a doctoral student and someone with Polish, Austrian, and Ukrainian ancestry on my father’s side, it was more than just a book. It was a catalyst.

From the beginning, Ostrowski frames her narrative with humility and curiosity: “I realized there were two adjacent doors as yet unopened in my explorations: my ancestral history and our Canadian immigrant history.” That line struck me. Like Ostrowski, I have spent years immersed in academic work but only recently began asking serious questions about my family’s journey. This book gave me the language and permission to start tracing that history.

Lost Legacies opens with the author investigating her grandmother’s roots in Poland. Rather than romanticizing the past, she confronts it with historical precision. She explains how the Russian Partition of Poland shaped daily life through poverty, censorship, and forced labour and describes the painfully slow emancipation of serfs in the 19th century. “In Russia in 1861, the Emancipation Manifesto granted freedom to many millions of serfs,” she writes, “but it was years later before legislation was [enforced].” These early chapters are dense with historical context, but they are crucial to understanding what her family and many others were fleeing.

The migration story unfolds on the decks of the S.S. Kursk, the ocean liner that carried Ostrowski’s grandmother to Canada. “The S.S. Kursk… was one of thirteen ships on the Russian American Line… launched on July 7, 1910, she sailed from Libau on her maiden voyage to New York.” For many immigrants, including those in my own family, the transatlantic journey was not just a physical transition—it was the line between a known hardship and an unknown hope.

The book’s second section brings readers into the heart of the immigrant experience in Canada, focusing on Halifax, Montreal, and Timmins. Here, Ostrowski paints a vivid picture of survival: factory jobs, makeshift housing, cold winters, and the daily sacrifices required to build a life from scratch. These chapters are narrative and tribute—an homage to the strength of immigrant families, particularly the women whose work often went unnoticed but whose influence was profound.

Ostrowski’s grandmother, Joanna, emerges as a profoundly compelling figure—a family matriarch and a cultural connector. One of the most striking discoveries in the book is that Joanna helped support the education of Louis Dudek, who would later become one of Canada’s most prominent poets. That story stayed with me. It made me think about all the unnamed women in immigrant families who shaped not only their homes but also their futures—quiet architects of cultural legacy.

“These sorts of fascinating stories are all around us,” Ostrowski writes, “hidden in the routine and conformity required by our daily lives.” This reflection serves as both a theme and a challenge. Her goal is not just to document the past—it is to help readers recognize the living presence of that past in their own lives. That message resonated deeply with me. It made me want to call my relatives, dig out old photos, and ask the kinds of questions I would put off for years.

The final section of Lost Legacies shifts its focus to public policy and collective memory. Based on her background as a lawyer, psychologist, and educator, Ostrowski critiques how Canadian immigration law has historically excluded or marginalized certain groups while favouring others. “After Canadian Confederation in 1867,” she notes, “more focus was directed to settling the Prairies and British Columbia… to prevent their loss to the United States.” This led to a pattern of immigration policy that emphasized economic utility while minimizing cultural and human contributions.

In this section, the book becomes a quiet call to action. Ostrowski does not argue in abstract terms—she uses lived experience to ask how policy might look different if informed by empathy and memory. “Would my discoveries be at all important for me or anyone else?” she asks early in the book. Ultimately, the answer is clear. Yes, they are essential—not just for her but for all of us.

Ostrowski’s writing is clear, compassionate, and deeply personal, yet never sentimental. She gracefully and carefully navigates complex histories—poverty, displacement, and systemic injustice—in a reflective tone that is neither preachy nor scholarly, yet inviting. She blends historical documents, family anecdotes, and philosophical insights in a way that makes the book accessible to both academics and general readers.

One of the most potent ideas in Lost Legacies is that legacy is not just about inheritance or fame—it is about memory, resilience, and the quiet transmission of values. “We need reminding that we exist along a continuum in time,” she writes, “with many deep roots that can be comforting as well as worthy of respect and admiration.” That sentence, for me, captured the heart of the book. It reminded me that researching family history is not a nostalgic exercise but an act of connection. There are moments when the historical depth may feel heavy, especially for readers unfamiliar with Polish or Eastern European history. The shift from memoir to policy analysis is noticeable, though not jarring. That shift is what makes the book especially relevant. Ostrowski does not just dwell in the past—she uses it to light a path forward.

Her final reflections are among the most moving. They inspired me to reflect on my own heritage and begin researching it. I am now actively exploring the history of my Polish, Austrian, and Ukrainian ancestors. This process feels as much about understanding who I am as it is about recovering the names, places, and stories that have quietly been waiting in the background of my life.

The Stories That Shape Us is a gift for readers at any stage of historical or personal exploration. It speaks to the quiet strength of every family story and the importance of listening before it’s too late. It urges us to view immigration as a policy and a lived reality. Moreover, it reminds us that history is not just something that happens—it is something we carry.

If you are curious about where you come from, have ever felt the weight of an untold story, or believe—as I now do more than ever—that memory can be a form of resistance and healing, then this book is for you.

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Amy Tucker is an educator and researcher with more than two decades of experience in post-secondary education. Since 2001, she has worked as a University Instructor and Open Learning Faculty Member at Thompson Rivers University (TRU). Her primary areas of focus include education, training, recruitment, career development, and management. Her research emphasizes decolonizing education, promoting reconciliation, and advancing principles of equity, diversity, and inclusion (EDI) in both academic and community settings. In addition to her academic work, Amy enjoys outdoor activities such as running, swimming, cycling, hiking, and kayaking. Her adventurous spirit shines through in her participation in various athletic events and her passion for exploring the natural beauty of British Columbia. Amy shares her experiences as an athlete in her newspaper column, “The Accidental Athlete,” which appears in the Kamloops Chronicle. Kukwstsétsemc. [Editor’s Note: Amy Tucker has reviewed books by Sara Ellison, Jody Wilson-Raybould, Peter Edwards and Kevin Loring, Russ Grabb, Meaghan Marie Hackinen, and Jayne Seagrave for The British Columbia Review.]

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The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors, 2023-26: Trevor Marc Hughes (non-fiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster