Harry Mulisch died last week, which was a bit shocking, I don't know why - he was not all that young.
For those who don't know, he was a Dutch writer. The Dutch writer, as far as I am concerned. Not that I'd read many other Dutch writers, mind you: I think that besides him I only read Anne Frank.
Anyway, he wrote good books, mostly about WWII in one way or another. Growing up in the Netherlands during WWII as a child of an Austrian Nazi collaborator and a Belgian Jew must have been the perfect recipe for a lifetime trauma, but it inspired pretty good literature.