Galatea

“It was the first thing I thought of, but it only made him frown more, because there were no flowers here, since we are on the rocky edge of a cliff over the sea, so that if I tried to climb out the window, I would not escape but die. Also, I was not even sure narcissus had a smell.”

While trying to get away from the doctor’s bad breath, Galatea describes the location of the hospital, which seems to have been intentionally designed to keep patients from escaping. Galatea’s lack of certainty about which flowers have a scent seems rooted in her lack of experience in the world, and highlights the extreme limitations her husband has placed on her.

“It’s easy, because I’ve had a lot of practice, but also because I think there’s some part of me, the stone part, that remembers and is glad to settle into solid lines.”

Galatea describes arranging her body for her husband’s arrival prior to their roleplay of her original awakening. This passage emphasizes how many times she has done this, and it also reveals how Galatea thinks about her own body and identity. The “stone part” is not merely a state in which she existed prior to her birth; rather, it’s something that persists in her and that she can even appreciate.

“My husband is quite rich now, and has enough to pay for a thousand more doctors who all tell me to lie down. He is rich because of me, if you want to know, but he doesn’t like it when I say that.”

Here, Galatea acknowledges her role in her husband’s financial success—after her “birth,” he acquired many new customers. She draws attention to the huge amount of money he has put into keeping her imprisoned. She also points out the persistent problems with the male-dominated medical establishment, implying that she will never be able to live her own, independent life, as she will never be able to escape this system.

“A few times in the past, I had let out a little snore at that moment, just for verisimilitude. But he did not like that at all.”

Galatea describes the reenactment of her awakening. She reveals the very different ways she and her husband think about reality and imagination. She wants to be as authentic as possible and embraces the idea of imperfections, but he is solely devoted to his fantasy of perfection.

“His head slumped to the pallet, and I opened my eyes, because he couldn’t see me while he wallowed in the covers. His hair was thinning, and I counted the bald spots on his scalp. Three, like always.”

Galatea notices her husband’s physical imperfections, but she does not begrudge him for them. Rather, this passage highlights his hypocrisy: He expects perfection from women but is far from ideal himself. Additionally, her use of the word “wallowed” conveys her husband’s highly emotional behavior during their awakening ritual.

“I felt him looking at me, admiring his work. He had not carved me like this, but he was imagining doing it. A beautiful statue, named The Supplicant. He could have sold me and lived like a king in Araby.”

While Galatea kneels on the floor and begs her husband to let her see Paphos, she knows he still sees her as an eroticized possession and a way to make money. He does not see her as a human experiencing deep sadness and anger, but as an object that can be positioned in a potentially profitable or pleasurable series of poses. This passage also connects the story to the ancient world, as “Araby” is an archaic name for Arabia or the Arab World more broadly.

“When she got older still, I insisted on a tutor, though my husband thought that would only ruin her. No, I said, she will be useful to her husband, as I am not. And he had smiled at me. You are useful enough.”

Galatea draws attention to the different ways she and her husband approach not only gender roles but the task of parenting. He believes that an educated girl or woman will be “ruined,” while Galatea believes that an education will improve Paphos’s lot in life. However, she is still careful to emphasize that an educated woman will, first and foremost, be useful to her husband, thus making sure the theoretical husband’s needs and desires are prioritized. This demonstrates her canniness in communicating with her husband and her drive to make sure her daughter receives an education.

“Everyone looked at me, because I was the most beautiful woman in the town. I don’t say this to boast, because there is nothing in it to boast of. It was nothing I did to myself.”

Here, Galatea expresses her discomfort with being conventionally beautiful. She also understands that physical beauty, both for her and for all women, is not an achievement to be celebrated or something that reflects one’s personality or inner life: It is simply random.

“And he sent me to bed, and after, in the torchlight, he wondered at the marks on me, the red around my neck, and the purple on my arms and chest where he had gripped me. He rubbed at them, as though they were stains, not bruises.”

These lines follow a scene in which the sculptor physically abuses Galatea. It demonstrates not only the sculptor’s lack of empathy but his consistent dehumanization of her. He still sees her as a work of art that can be altered at will rather than a living creature who can experience pain. The passage’s focus on the specific colors of Galatea’s injuries is a reminder of the sculptor’s identity as an artist and his apparent belief that artistic creation justifies any sort of harm.

“Next came the rose oil that my husband pays extra for, which she put on as though she was making bread, slapping my skin with both hands. She meant it to hurt, but I sort of liked the vigor of it, the sound and the way my skin went pink.”

After the nurse bathes Galatea, she applies a special treatment. The text uses figurative language to connect this scene to its larger theme of transformation. By comparing herself favorably to bread, Galatea embraces the idea of being turned into something else, and bread is associated with the nourishments found in comfortable domestic spaces. She enjoys the slight pain caused by the treatment, suggesting that she welcomes any reminder that her body is, in fact, alive: In literature and art, pink skin is often connected to youth, health, and well-being.

“Look at my stomach. I had puffed it a little, so that it looked like a mound. And anyway, he did not know what women looked like. To him, if there was anything, it was strange.” 

This passage explores The Fetishization of Purity and Perfection. Galatea is able to fake her pregnancy because of her husband’s lack of familiarity with real women’s bodies; he is devoted to his own image of the ideal woman, and in his mind, anything outside of that ideal is inherently strange and out of place.

“I sifted the dirt through my fingers. It was dark, and there was only a little moon, which I took to mean that the goddess, if she existed, smiled on me.” 

This is the first time we see Galatea go outside, except for flashbacks. She seems to have an immediate, deeply emotional bond with the earth. This is also the first time anyone in the text suggests that the goddess might not actually exist. Galatea’s moment of doubt could reflect the pain that her husband’s fervent faith in the goddess has caused her.

“There were silks on her, draped like blankets, and I slipped them off. There was a bracelet of flowers on her wrist, and I pulled it away. I kissed her forehead and whispered, ‘Daughter, I’m sorry.’”

In this passage, Galatea finds the new statue her husband has sculpted. It is unclear why she is apologizing, though it could be for a number of reasons: She may feel regret that this 10-year-old girl will never get to experience any of the pleasures of life, or she may feel sad that the statue was brought into existence at all, as her husband will certainly not treat her well. Regardless, she feels a maternal love and familial connection with the statue, evident when she calls her “[d]aughter.” Likely, she sees both herself and Paphos reflected back at her.