Memories of Botticelli

Animal, vegetable or mineral?

The game of 20 Questions brings back childhood memories. But it can also be a complex game, as I am learning right now.

My friend Walter surprised me by starting a game of 20 Questions via email last week. Email makes the game slower but easier in at least one respect: you don't have to remember the answers because you have an email trail.

The category for the game with Walter was mineral. The answer was "a speed bump." I ran out of questions before I could get it right.

He started another round a few days ago. Again, the category is mineral. I've asked nine questions so far, and I'm stumped. If I am interpreting his answers correctly, the thing is bigger than a breadbox, can be found in homes, is used by men and women and is man made. But here's my quandary: the thing is neither useful nor decorative.

What could it be? I have 11 questions left to find out.

In my college days and for a few years afterwards, we played a more layered version of 20 Questions called Botticelli. It was named for the early Italian Renaissance painter Sandro Botticelli. He's the artist in the self-portrait above. (His best-known work is The Birth of Venus, which I finally saw in the Uffizi museum in Florence five years ago.)

Botticelli, the game, begins when one player -- let's call him "the chooser" -- announces that he is a person whose last name (or only name) begins with a certain initial. If the person were Sandro Botticelli, for example, the initial would be B. The hard and fast rule is that the person whose identity the players seek must be at least as well-known as Sandro Botticelli. The person can be either fictional or real.

Botticelli includes "access questions" and "yes/no questions." Players must ask access questions about people with the announced initial until they stump the chooser. Using my B initial, I might ask the chooser "Did you commission the original plan for Richmond?" If the chooser cannot think of an answer (in this example, William Byrd II), I have stumped him. Thus I win the right to ask yes/no questions until I get a no. I might ask if the chooser's character is fictional, or if he is male, or whether he is an American.

Once I get a no answer, it's the next person's turn.

It's not necessary to stick with the facts known so far when asking an access question. In our B example, a player might ask "Are you the cartoon spokesperson for a fruit?" If the chooser says "Chiquita Banana" -- or even any other character who fits the question -- the next player gets to try an access question.

And so it goes until the yes/no questions add up to an identity, at which point the guesser whose turn it is would ask, "Are you Sandro Botticelli?" and the game is over.

Games of Botticelli can last a long time, an hour or more.

I have such pleasant memories of playing Botticelli while driving with friends to Charlottesville or D.C. or while gathered around a table at a bar or while killing time between college classes.

I haven't played in at least 30 years.

I wonder why. I should do something about that.

Perhaps I'll host a Botticelli party.

Or play a game via email with Walter.

(If you want to know more about how to play the game of Botticelli, click here.)