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28 pages 56 minutes read

Madeline Miller

Galatea

Fiction | Short Story | Adult | Published in 2013

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Themes

The Drive for Bodily Autonomy

Galatea’s body has never been her own. Throughout the story, she is focused on and motivated by her desire for self-control and bodily autonomy. Although it might seem that, at times, she is conforming to others’ expectations about how her body should look and what it should do, the end of the story reveals that she has carefully orchestrated a reclamation of her physical autonomy. This plan culminates in her death, but the choice to die is, in fact, the ultimate act of self-liberation and self-determination; moreover, it specifically benefits other girls and women who might face the same dark fate Galatea once did.

While Galatea’s physicality is central to everything that happens in the story, scenes that involve her body tend to focus on what other people are doing to it. While in the hospital, the doctor and nurse are in total control of her: They repeatedly force her into bed, make her drink tea, and do things like measure her pulse without her consent. When Galatea’s husband visits her, she is able to have a tiny measure of physical freedom, but it is only so that she can arrange her body in a particular way—a way that involves a total lack of movement—for her husband’s benefit.

As they act out the ritual of her coming to life, her husband “tests [her] stoniness” by doing things like “kneading [her] hips and belly, hard” (15). While Galatea does not address it outright, the implication is that he does not treat her body gently during this ritual. The story also implies that Galatea does not consent to the sex they have after she pretends to wake. She says, “And that’s when I’m supposed to open my eyes […] and see him poised over me like the sun […] and then he fucks me” (15-16). The phrase “supposed to” and her comparison of her husband to a dominant celestial body, the sun, suggests that she has no choice.

Galatea connects freedom and autonomy to running. In fact, both she and her husband explicitly connect running to the act of her escaping from him. When Galatea apologizes for her previous escape attempt, her husband tells her she “should not have run,” and Galatea says, “I will never run again, I swear on my life” (21). When Galatea lures him out of their home to draw him down to the ocean, she repeatedly mentions running, further connecting it to the more abstract notion of freedom: “I turned and ran […] I fled through the front door […] it was just the night’s silence and the two of us, running through the streets” (46). As she becomes increasingly liberated—a state brought about only after she claims the bodily autonomy that’s been denied her—she is able to use her body to destroy her oppressor.

The story’s final lines emphasize the fundamental difference between Galatea’s liberated body and her husband’s newly imprisoned one: “I thought of how the crabs would come for him, climbing over my pale shoulders […] I settled into [the ocean floor] and slept” (50). While neither of them will ever run again, Galatea’s physical autonomy allowed her to choose this fate, whereas— somewhat ironically—the freedom and power her husband always had ultimately led to his downfall.

The Fetishization of Purity and Perfection

The sculptor creates Galatea because of his disgust with the local women, specifically with what he perceives to be their openly sexual lifestyles and the freedom they exercise over their sexual choices. Not only does he want a wife who looks perfect; he wants one whose body reflects his ideal of inner moral purity. This theme is highly gendered—the male characters do not face the same impossible standards that the female characters do. It is also related to broader concepts about art: It touches on ways artists frequently torment themselves if they do not produce perfect work, implying that the creative impulse can sometimes be a double-edged sword.

Galatea wonders if it wouldn’t have been easier for the sculptor to marry a local woman, and he responds by saying “those sluts,” adding that he “would not have them” (12). The original story as told in the Metamorphoses begins at this point, with Ovid emphasizing the allegedly problematic sexual behavior of these unseen women.

In 17th-century poet John Dryden’s translation, the story begins with these lines: “Pygmalion loathing their lascivious Life, / Abhorr’d all Womankind, but most a Wife” (Dryden, John, and Hopkins, David. The Poems of John Dryden: 1697-1700. Longman, 1995, p.261). Rolfe Humphries’s 1960 translation begins with, “One man, Pygmalion, who had seen these women / Leading their lives, shocked at the vices / Nature has given the female disposition / Only too often, chose to live alone” (Ovid. Metamorphoses. Translated by Rolfe Humphries, Indiana University Press, 1960, pp.241-42). In other words, the original story suggests that most women are inherently careless in their sexual behavior, or at least they do not have any regard for social mores.

In all versions of the story, including Miller’s, the sculptor is obsessed with women’s sexual behavior, to the point that he commits to never marry. This implies that he holds himself to unique standards: If he did meet a woman who behaved the way he wanted, he would marry her, but until the statue comes to life, no woman is good enough for him. Indeed, as Galatea and her husband enact the coming-to-life ritual once again, her husband says, “O goddess! Why cannot I find a maiden such as this for my wife? Why must such perfection be marble and not flesh?” (13)

The sculptor connects female purity with artistic creation. He reveals to Galatea that he is working on a new statue for himself. When Galatea asks him how old the statue will be—presumably when she is “born”—he responds with “a virgin.” He seems to expect that a new statue will have none of the imperfections Galatea has, especially after giving birth to Paphos, and believes it is up to him and his artistic skill to create this material embodiment of purity.

However, the sculptor does think that his sculptures should experience the physical manifestations of sexual shame. When he and Galatea argue about whether to hire another tutor for Paphos, he angrily tells her that she “apologizes and apologizes, but [does] not blush” (32). Although she eventually does blush—only after he becomes violent, yanking off her dress and pushing her to the floor— this scene illustrates the story’s larger perspective on the relationship between artist and artistic creation, and how that relationship can foster toxic expectations of perfection.

Bonds Between Women

Because the husband and the doctor hold so much social and material power within the story’s world, they often overshadow the female characters in their cruel dominance. However, female relationships are central to the meaning of “Galatea.” Even when they seem insignificant to the plot, exchanges between girls and women are often the text’s prime examples of authentic empathy or love.

Galatea has meaningful encounters with several women throughout the text. In each case, she approaches interactions from a place of good faith and seems genuinely invested in other women’s well-being. The nurse, Chloe, is typically kind to Galatea, particularly toward the end of the story. When Galatea says she is afraid of having a miscarriage, Chloe reassures her, describing what a miscarriage is like and even identifying personally with Galatea: “A moment passed, and then I felt her hand on my back. You will be all right, she said. I have done it, and look, I live” (40). She also knowingly violates hospital rules when she lets Galatea go outside, acknowledging that this is only possible because the doctor is not there at night (41).

Galatea, in turn, is always kind to Chloe, even when the nurse is impatient: “[She] refused to answer me, no matter what I said to her, even when I told her how beautiful her mole was. I wasn’t lying. At that moment it seemed to have a handsomeness of its own” (35). Galatea recognizes and honors beauty in other women’s imperfections—something none of the men in her life seem capable of doing. In moments like these, the story creates a female-centered structure of exchange: It depicts the unique ways that women speak to other women outside of male power structures.

This structure of exchange is also apparent when Galatea and Paphos meet an old woman who touches Paphos’s foot and asks for Galatea’s blessing (25). In this short scene, the three women seem to understand each other, and few words are necessary: “I murmured something, and she touched my arm in thanks. Her fingers were strange, like twigs on bare arms, but her skin was very soft” (25-26). The story does not reveal what Galatea actually said to the woman; this suggests that the words themselves are less important than the emotion behind them. The woman touching her “in thanks” confirms that she understands whatever Galatea said and feels empowered or comforted by it. This exchange, like Galatea’s somewhat tempestuous relationship with Chloe and her very loving bond with Paphos, is a method by which Galatea subverts the limits her husband attempts to place on her. She creates, however subtly and briefly, ways of connecting with other women, and is strengthened in turn by these connections.

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