On September 9, 1944, the Ukrainian Soviet government and the Polish Committee of National Liberation signed a treaty about population exchange between territories that later became the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic and the Republic of Poland. On the pages of this document, the Soviet policy of forced migration of Poles and Ukrainians was called “voluntary evacuation” and “repatriation.” In consequence, thousands ended up in other people's homes: Ukrainians in Polish houses, Poles in German ones, and Germans in the homes of their countrymen. For uprooted citizens of the eastern borderlands of the Second Polish Republic, the territories, where Jazlivetz and Lviv are located, remained indeed a “Lost World,” just as the title of Alina Staneczek's book states, both mentally and geographically.1In the years between 1946 and 1991, it was almost impossible to privately visit places, neighbors, and relatives in the USSR. It was up to parents and grandparents to pass the memory on, creating an imagined lost world for the next generation, where nostalgia was strongly connected to experience, historical facts, and events. When Ukraine regained independence after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, many Poles traveled to different Ukrainian cities, towns, and villages to visit places rooted in their memory.Staneczek's book stands somewhere between a historical novel and reportage. However, it differs from other literary works about coming home that create a narrative about life in the former territories of the Second Polish Republic before 1939. In this regard, the moment of publication plays an important role. The author quotes the statement, “I need ammunition, not a ride” (p. 105), made by Volodymyr Zelenskyi, the Ukrainian president, on February 26, 2022, two days after the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine. The quotation is placed as the thoughts of a Polish soldier on July 26, 1944, the date of the signing of the first agreement between the Polish Committee of National Liberation and the Soviet government, granting authority for military operations on Polish territory by the USSR command and the leaders of the Red Army. In the same short paragraph, the author contrasts the situation of 1944 with that of 2022, comparing World War II to the Russo-Ukrainian war, and ponders whether history repeats itself (p. 105). It suits the moment of publication well: the Polish and Ukrainian societies, united in war effort, seem to find common ground in discussing their painful past, as Presidents Zelenskyi and Andrzej Duda met in Lutsk to commemorate the victims on the eightieth anniversary of the Volhynian massacre, which remains the main point of tension in Ukrainian-Polish relations and the collective memory of the two states.The book focuses on a variety of questions, and sometimes it is hard to trace all the historical events and the long list of characters who are not fully introduced. But even though the reader might feel a bit puzzled and lost, the author has managed to depict the life stories of three women—Zofia, Inka, and Mika—in different historical periods, countries, and stages of their lives—from Poland to Scotland, and from the mid-1940s to 2014, providing a meaningful historical background. The author portrays postwar recovery, the struggle for a new identity after the population exchange of 1945–1946 (“the clients were mainly the newly arrived residents who didn't want to be called women from Gliwice (gliwiczanki) at all” (p. 15), and everyday life in the Polish People's Republic, including such complicated personal dilemmas as whether to become a member of the Party. The main characters experience protests against the government, martial law, and the Solidarity movement in the 1980s. Furthermore, more contemporary events are included in the book, such as the 1997 Central European flood or the accession of Poland to the European Union in 2004. Such a plethora of references to historical events and processes, however, requires the reader to possess a solid knowledge of modern Central and Eastern European history or more explicit explanations from the author. Staneczek tries to provide such explanations; however, she signals in the afterword that “the narrative is not a historical account, but merely a story born in the author's imagination based on historical data.” (p. 294) This practice of merging fiction and key points of national memory presents a cause for concern.The book is divided into three interconnected short stories: “Alignments,” “Inequalities,” and “Space.” The titles are connected to one of the main threads of the book: the history and heritage of the Lwów School of Mathematics. Zofia Walicka, the fictional main character, is presented as one of Stefan Banach's closest students, who was solving mathematical problems at the Scottish Café. In the book, she was also a lice feeder in Rudolf Weigl's Institute, where many members of the local intelligentsia survived the Nazi occupation. Later, after moving to Gliwice, she became a cloth designer and owner of the Klementyna brand. Walicka had her main office at Weichmann's Textile House, one of the most famous modernist architectural objects in the Silesia region. The author's ambition to revisit the history of significant individuals, places, and institutions is certainly commendable. However, the execution falls short of expectations. History (and the use of it in literature) needs to be more than just a compilation of intriguing facts and names. Furthermore, the question remains why it was necessary to invent a fictional heroine when numerous historical figures—whose lives were equally, if not more, compelling, intriguing, and complex—were left unexplored and overshadowed. The point could be sustained, for instance, by simply examining the list of people employed at Weigl's Institute.Figures from the Lwów School of Mathematics appear in all three stories, mostly Stefan Banach, Stanisław Ulam, and Hugo Steinhaus. However, the portrayal of these eminent scholars in the book is disappointingly superficial. The reader learns only that they frequented the Scottish Café, socialized, and engaged in mathematical problem-solving—a depiction of a bohemian lifestyle that the protagonist nostalgically reminisces about after forced migration. The profound impact of the war, which upended the lives of these intellectuals, is conveyed only through accounts of other characters. The scientists, who are pivotal to the protagonist, are scarcely mentioned, except for a brief conversation within the Walicki family following Stefan Banach's funeral in August 1945. Even in this regard, the narrative is reduced to trivial details—“he smoked like a dragon and dragged other mathematicians for coffee and cognac to the Scottish Café” (p. 34)—and two cursory sentences about feeding lice at Weigl's Institute. These references merely echo popular cultural stereotypes about this intellectual, offering little depth or insight into his life. The author also poses a rhetorical question about the changing linguistic landscape—if a street was named after Banach in contemporary Lviv (p. 33)? This information is publicly available2 and can be explained by studying the life of postwar Lviv in more detail. The street near the Lychakiv cemetery bore Stefan Banach's name already in 1946.Furthermore, the author provides scant information about the broader experiences of the Lviv intelligentsia during World War II, particularly during the Soviet era. This omission significantly weakens the narrative, as it fails to provide the necessary context for understanding the complex choices people faced—whether to emigrate, stay and collaborate, or resist and fight. Expanding on these aspects would greatly enhance the reader's comprehension of the era and the profound dilemmas faced by these historical figures. She could have added into this discourse more information about changes in the Lviv University, which was renamed after Ivan Franko. Other facts she could have taken into consideration were new Ukrainianized intellectuals who took part in the political life of the region by becoming deputies for local governments or going through the dilemma-ridden process of becoming members of the Soviet intelligentsia.Overall, Staneczek offers a fresh perspective on literature about postwar forced relocations, combining it with the history of famous intellectuals. Her book is a valuable publication, providing an understanding of the complex lives of people who were forced to leave their homes and native cities and only had a chance to return briefly decades later. The author's ambition to revisit historical figures and institutions, particularly the Lwów School of Mathematics, is noteworthy; however, the book would benefit from more rigorous research and engagement with recent scholarly literature.3 Expanding the historical context and focusing more on the real-life figures who shaped this era could have elevated this narrative into a more powerful and insightful reflection on the past. Despite these limitations, Staneczek's book effectively captures the sense of dislocation and identity struggles experienced by individuals across different periods, from postwar recovery to contemporary Poland.
Liana Blikharska (Thu,) studied this question.