Guess Person Game

refugee wrote: LinusW wrote: refugee wrote: A philosopher? Yes (you've got it now). Maybe, but I don’t want the next go, so I don’t dare to guess any names. Did he die in Stockholm?

He most certainly did, the poor sod Forced to get out of bed way too early for his taste to tutor a frightful bore of a queen.

someone_else wrote: OK, then I take the go (supposed that this is the guy): it is René Descartes.

Yes, it is

Your go.

Does he appear in a book?

Was he created before 1900?

Is he a detective?

I was thinking more of Yours Is No Disgrace for some reason.

So it’s not Tiresias then. Are the books he appears in novels?

EDIT: I forgot to check your new hint, and that actually seems to lead towards Tiresias.


Edited by refugee - March 05 2012 at 07:31

So I was right? Well, I guess you didn’t know that The Cinema Show is based on a part of The Waste Land. I’m a bit in a hurry right now; I’ll find the excerpt and post it here later.

I found it!

The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest -
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .

Living?