Today I spent time deepening one of the characters closest to my heart: Ilona, the young Jewish violinist at the centre of my 1935 spring–summer novel. What began as a simple character sketch turned into a far more emotional dive than I expected — because to understand Ilona, I had to understand Budapest, her family, her traditions, and the quiet strength she carries with her.

Budapest: A city of contradictions and beauty

Researching Budapest in the 1930s was unexpectedly moving. It was a city filled with:

• cafés humming with artists and musicians,
• the Danube glittering between Buda and Pest,
• synagogues alive with community and tradition,
• and beneath it all, a growing tension that would soon reshape countless lives.

For Ilona, Budapest isn’t just a backdrop — it’s the emotional foundation of who she is. She comes from a family rooted in craft and heritage, shaped by the rhythms of Shabbat, the warmth of home, and the quiet resilience that so many families carried during that era.

Family, tradition, and the weight of inheritance

Ilona’s character began to take shape when I explored what her family might have passed down to her:

• a grandmother’s necklace,
• a father’s teachings,
• a mother’s careful preservation of ritual,
• and the small, intimate objects that make Shabbat feel like home.

Understanding these traditions helped me understand her. She isn’t simply a musician on a train tour — she’s a young woman carrying her family’s history in her pocket, in her memories, and in the rituals she tries to keep alive even when the world around her becomes dangerous.

Why this research mattered today

Learning more about Budapest’s Jewish history gave me clarity on Ilona’s emotional landscape:

• why she is cautious,
• why she is gentle,
• why she is brave in quiet ways,
• and why her identity matters so deeply to her story.

It reminded me that character building isn’t just about personality traits — it’s about heritage, place, and the invisible threads that tie a character to the world they come from.

Ilona’s journey is shaped by music, yes — but also by candles lit at sunset, whispered blessings, family heirlooms tucked into luggage, and the memory of a city she loves even as she’s forced to leave it behind.

A small insight from today’s work

Sometimes, when writing historical fiction, you think you’re researching a city. But really, you’re learning how a character loves, fears, hopes, and survives.

Today Budapest taught me more about Ilona than any character questionnaire ever could.

And I can’t wait to share more of her story with you.