Anthony Horowitz
The biggest mystery in my life was my father, who died when I was twenty-one. To this day, I do not know if he was a good man or a bad one (although the answer is that he was probably both). He had a number of very shadowy friends, many of them on the wrong side of the law, some of them connected to government. As a parent, he could be very cold and unkind. He ridiculed my dream of becoming a writer and yet he was a great lover of art and literature. He introduced me to Charles Dickens and Jane Austen and I still have many of his books in my library. When he died, every penny of his wealth disappeared and to this day we do not know what happened to it. I have almost no fond memories of him and I am puzzled how someone could be so close and so distant at the same time.
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