Sometimes a particular story setting, because of its meaning and centrality, can be elevated to the level of character. The author might imbue it with a certain personality; it might affect the behavior of characters or reflect themes or emotions central to the narrative. The place often has a rich history or features heavily in the protagonist’s backstory or that of another central character.

An example of such a setting is the Overlook Hotel in The Shining, Stephen King’s horror masterpiece. The hotel is more than a place in the story. It is a force of evil that influences and manipulates Jack Torrance, driving the plot. For a less sinister example, consider the Hundred Acre Wood in Winnie-the-Pooh. The wood seems alive itself, embodying the sense of peace, wonder, and imagination that drives the characters who live there. Various places in the wood, for example Pooh’s house or Eeyore’s gloomy spot, reflect and amplify the mood and personalities of the characters, adding to the magic of the story.

All these aspects are true of one of the central settings of my coming novel, the Royal Hungarian Ludovika Defense Academy, or Magyar Királyi Honvéd Ludovika Akadémia in Hungarian. I’ll bet that means nothing to you, but if I had said West Point, you’d have a firm picture in your mind. Well, Ludovika was the national military academy for Hungary, training future officers for service in the Hungarian army. The school has had a storied, but sometimes complicated history, educating young men, and now women, since 1872.

The academy had everything needed to turn a young man into an officer and a gentleman, ready and able for the demands of the battlefield, political arenas, and the salons of Budapest.

Cadets at the academy studied military manners, economics, terrain, armament, military structure, mathematics, geography, world history, natural sciences, and the Hungarian, German and Croatian languages. Every student drilled in military formation, marksmanship, fencing, gymnastics and swimming.

Even more daunting, advanced training was given to highly qualified officers in army organization, military tactics and strategy, military ground studies, fortification, military jurisdiction, international law and relations during warfare, jurisprudence, and the French language for diplomatic purposes.

Every officer would become a superior sabreur and equestrian. While the cavalry continued as a separate military tradition within the Austro-Hungarian ranks, the tradition of the Hungarian Hussars was felt throughout the general army, including the Honvéd (Hungarian domestic forces) and at Ludovika.

The bicycle, in its infancy at the time, seemed an efficient and low-cost mode of transportation for reconnaissance, communications, and message delivery.

And Ludovika was more than a school, it was a residence for a hundred or so young men.

Since 2012, the fully renovated Ludovika has been known as the Ludovika University of Public Service, and its mission now encompasses fields from across the public sector, such as law enforcement, diplomacy, and public administration, in addition to military education.

But Ludovika’s impact extends beyond its historical role. For many who passed through its halls, it left an indelible mark, shaping their identities in ways that echoed through their lives long after they left the academy. One such figure is Máté Nádasdy, whom readers may recall from Death’s Visage. He’s a young, retired military man, now a café proprietor, and in the story, he’s drawn into investigating the theft of a priceless artifact.

In my coming novel, you will learn Máté is, in fact, an alumnus of Ludovika, and he’s led back to its corridors and halls to investigate the mysterious death of a friend. Readers will quickly realize how Máté’s character been shaped by the institution. It is a force of tradition, morality, discipline, and camaraderie whose presence and power are palpable. Máté is the person he’s become, in large part, because of Ludovika. But despite its positive impact, his relationship with the academy is complex and multifaceted. I think we all have a place—be it a school, place of worship, or organization—that has shaped us and with which we hold such a complex relationship.

I will share more details about my novel’s background in October, but I hope you can feel the same excitement and passion I experienced while writing the story of Ludovika and its cadets. Historical fiction is a genre where places hold an unseen, yet undeniable power. A setting can shape the narrative as much or more than any protagonist. Like the Overlook Hotel or the Hundred Acre Wood, Ludovika is more than a place. It is a presence, a culture, a history that drives my characters’ decisions and emotions. It is a looming force that can’t be ignored.

If you are interested in reading more about Ludovika and its significance in Hungarian history, I refer you to a seminal work, Ludovika, by Colonel Lajos Négyesi.

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