“Galatea” Review: Female Pain, Male Pleasure

Madeline Miller’s “Galatea” is a 21st century “response” to Ovid’s interpretation of the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, told from the perspective of the previously nameless sculpture turned human, Galatea herself. In the original story, Pygmalion builds the most beautiful woman in the world out of ivory and makes her his wife after Venus turns her human. Miller’s chilling retelling dissects the moral implications of creating a person and then marrying them. In her version, Pygmalion, who is never named and only referred to as “my husband” by Galatea, keeps her locked away and watched constantly by a doctor and a nurse. Miller’s retelling deals with themes such as personhood, female subjugation, and male pleasure — subjects that were only alluded to in the original. Though the story is short, Miller does a decent job of exploring these ideas through Galatea’s voice, although she falls short when it comes to the development of other characters.

In the story, Miller asks what it means to be a person. Galatea can speak, she has feelings, and she can even give birth, but she is “born” subordinated to her husband — who sees himself as her father, mother, and brother as well. Miller’s version of this story examines the ethics of this relationship and probes at its incestuous implications as she seeks to answer the question, can you really create your own lover? This question becomes even more uncomfortable due to her husband’s fetishization of her “birth,” as he makes her reenact it for his sexual gratification.

Miller illustrates Galatea’s husband’s frustration with the imperfections associated with womanhood. “They are ugly,” he says of her stretch marks — marks she developed after being pregnant with his child. While Galatea sees these marks as a “sign” of their child, he sees them as a sign of her body’s imperfection. Miller excels at portraying the male desire for female purity. In the original story, Pygmalion makes his wife because he is disgusted by the promiscuity exhibited by the women of his time. Miller explores this idea further by focusing on the contradiction between this hatred for women and desire for their bodies. Miller makes it clear that Pygmalion enjoys the idea that he made Galatea because he knows she would be a virgin, untouched by any man before him. He feels entitled to her body, and if he ever feels challenged by her in any way, he reacts with violence.

Miller prompts a discussion about male pleasure derived from female pain. When Galatea apologizes to her doctor, she is led to believe that “he liked that.” When she cries in front of him, she says, “that had been his favorite time.” The doctor’s presence is suffocating to Galatea. She notes that the room she is confined to “was smallest of all with the doctor in it.” The other male character, her husband, leaves bruises on her body and blissfully compares her body to a canvas, further dehumanizing her. “The color is perfect,” he says of her bruises, as if he were an artist who is free to do whatever he would like to her body.

Miller’s new, more nuanced characterization of Galatea is the highlight of this story, but unfortunately she is the only multidimensional character. Perhaps this was purposefully done, considering that her character in the original myth was never given a voice, and that she now rests in control of her own narrative. Yet while there is only so much character building that can be done in a mere 50 pages in a book about female subjugation, it would have been nice for Miller to pay more attention to the other women in the story — or at least the relationships between women, especially between Galatea and her daughter, Pathos, or Galatea and her nurse. For example, Miller hints at how women can be perpetrators of violence against other women — by highlighting, for instance, the nurse’s complacency while the doctor and Galatea’s husband mistreat her — but she could’ve delved it deeper.

Madeline Miller’s presentation of this myth of Pygmalion and Galatea finally gives Galatea the name, voice, and complexity she deserves. She challenges the reader to think about consent, and she shines a light on the fetishization of female anguish and complete subordination. This beautifully written commentary on “male fantasy” and male anger directed at independent women brings this myth down to earth. Galatea is a relatable character and a strong heroine who makes her mark in a mere 50 pages.