S5E2 - Pygmalion and Galatea

The stories featured in Greaking Out are original adaptations of classic Greek myths.

This week's story features a man in love with his work, serious skill with marble, the blessings of a goddess, and some questionable themes.

Plus, stay tuned at the end for an excerpt of Rick Riordan's new book, Daughter of the Deep.

If you've been listening to Greaking Out for a while now, you know that Greek mythology isn't all about monsters and battles and quests.

Sure, there's plenty of stories like that, but there are also sweeter stories about love and soulmates and following one's destiny.

And this is one of those stories.

Well, kind of.

Today's episode is about Pygmalion and the love of his life, Galatea.

But before before we begin, there's one thing you should know.

Galatea wasn't like other girls.

In fact, she wasn't even like other humans.

She was...

How shall I put this?

She was...

I don't know.

She was a statue made of stone.

Oh, hi, Oracle.

Didn't see you there.

Yes, she was a statue, which, as you can probably guess, is a little strange considering.

Statues are not actual people.

They are not alive exactly so this is not your typical love story critics will argue that the myth of pygmalion is more a reflection of man's ego than anything else okay okay okay let's not get too far ahead of ourselves okay

our story begins with pygmalion a famous artist on the island of cyprus And while Pygmalion worked with many different mediums, he could paint, he could draw, stuff like that, he was best known for his beautiful, lifelike sculptures and statues.

Now to make these sculptures, he would hire women to sit and model for him throughout the workday.

And even though this was a necessary part of his job, he found these women to be rather annoying.

All day long, they would gossip and bore him with trivial matters.

And Pygmalion was a serious man.

He fell in love with a statue.

How serious can he be?

I guess that's a fair point, but before that happened, he was rather serious.

I think it's fair to call him grumpy, maybe even cantankerous or persnickety.

But I like to think that he was just really, really, really focused on his work.

He was an artiste, as they say, and the models he hired tended to not take his art as seriously as he did.

He even caught one rolling her eyes at his stern looks one day.

Pygmalion didn't have time for such silliness.

He had important things to do after all.

According to a study conducted by Northwestern University, highly creative individuals are generally more easily distracted than the average person.

Hmm.

Well, Pygmalion would look at the model and then begin sculpting, carving the rock and stone into a perfect likeness of the woman modeling for him.

But this was a slow process and required a lot of patience from the models.

They had to stand perfectly still for a long time.

Impatience is understandable.

But eventually, Pygmalion thought he had found the perfect model.

She was young, beautiful, and almost painfully quiet.

She hardly ever said a thing.

Just what the sculptor wanted.

But over time, Pygmalion himself became distracted by the woman's quietness.

She never said anything at all, and she had this way of looking so intently at him while he worked that he sometimes started to blush.

One day, as he was finishing up a particularly tricky part of the piece, the young woman looked at him and smiled slightly.

Just a small, slight smile, but Pygmalion suddenly couldn't concentrate and he tapped his hammer and chisel a little too hard, cracking the statue and all but ruining the entire sculpture.

Early Greek sculptures were mostly made of bronze and limestone.

But eventually, most sculptors began to use marble instead.

The statues look different today than they would have then.

Marble was usually painted, so little to no white showed through.

Pygmalion was fed up, so he decided he would no longer have any models.

He would make his statues from memory alone.

And what's more, he vowed to never marry or have anything to do with women ever again.

These women are nothing but frivolous, self-absorbed, emotional creatures.

I will never waste my precious life doting on one of them.

I have art to make.

What a completely unemotional stance to take.

Yeah, well, you have a point there.

Pygmalion threw himself into his work.

He spent every day from dawn till dusk toiling over his statues.

It wasn't all about the money or the fame for him.

In ancient Greece, statues were used on graves or stood in the sanctuaries of temples as gifts to the gods.

Pygmalion saw his calling as a noble one, to create a portrait of someone that would bring them to mind even after they were gone, or better yet, to honor the gods and bring blessings onto the people of Cyprus.

While he worked tirelessly, he was disappointed with every single one of his finished pieces.

Oh, sure, they were quality work, but they weren't perfect.

He knew he could do better, and he vowed to do so.

He wouldn't stop until he created the world's most beautiful, lifelike statue.

And then, one day, he realized he'd done it.

He had made the perfect statue.

It was a woman, of course, all his pieces were, but this one was different.

She was beautiful with a kind face and a wise, knowing look in her ivory-colored eyes.

Just like Pygmalion had intended, he had captured perfection.

He was so pleased with his work that he moved the statue from his workshop to inside his house.

He found that he didn't want to be separated from her.

She had a calming presence when he was around her.

Pygmalion liked catching her eye across the dinner table.

Sure, she didn't say much, but hey, she was good company.

This is such a weird story.

Yeah, yeah, it's true.

Pygmalion was falling in love with his statue.

I can't help it, Pygmalion exclaimed.

I never thought I would fall in love at all, but I never thought I would meet such a perfect woman either.

She is everything I ever wanted.

She's smart and reserved and beautiful, and she...

Well, she reminds me of me.

And though Pygmalion had once sworn that he would never, ever fall in love, he treated his statue with the highest amount of reverence and care.

He brought her clothes in case...

well, you know, in case statues got cold.

Stone does not get cold.

It feels cold to the touch.

But this is simply because the material has a high thermal conductivity, meaning that it allows heat to flow through it quickly.

But that's not all.

Pygmalion would bring the statue food to look at, I guess.

He would read to the statue and he brought her pieces of literature to read on her own and a mirror so she could gaze upon her own beauty.

Did you say this was a love story or a psychological thriller?

I know, I know, I know.

It sounds weird, but hey, statue or no statue, Pygmalion loved her.

He loved her so much that he decided to give her a name, Galatea.

In addition to being bizarre, this is also factually inaccurate.

The statue was only referred to as the image until Jean-Jacques Rousseau's opera, Pygmalion, debuted in 1762.

Okay, true enough, but we're going to refer to her as Galatea throughout the remainder of the episode.

It's just a little bit catchier than the image.

Is that okay with you, Oracle?

I suppose.

Okay, where was I?

Weird, self-absorbed artist man falls in love with his own statue that we've reluctantly agreed to refer to as Galatea.

Right.

So,

Pygmalion was head over over heels in love with his statue Galatea, even though she didn't exactly bring much to the relationship.

Maybe that's what he liked about her.

For a man who had previously been critical of women, he truly made a fantastic partner and doted on Galatea every waking moment.

He had never been happier, but he had also never been more pained.

Every day, he saw the perfect woman, the perfect partner, and every day he was forced to remember that she was made of stone.

She would never return his love and affection.

She would never be real.

Of course that's not exactly how the story played out.

No one knew about Pygmalion's love interest.

It's not as though he could leave the house with his rock wife, but that didn't stop the gods from paying attention.

And while some of them thought the whole thing was rather amusing and sort of strange, there was one god who found the whole scene particularly heartwarming, Aphrodite.

Aphrodite is the goddess of love and beauty.

Aphrodite was shocked by how devoted Pygmalion had become to Galatea.

She had never seen such care and affection.

She was curious, would Pygmalion be just as interested in Galatea if she were made of flesh and bone instead of ivory?

Doubtful.

Well, Aphrodite decided she wanted to find out.

One day, While Pygmalion was in the temple praying to the gods, Aphrodite decided to pay him a visit.

Hello, Pygmalion, she greeted him.

Goddess Aphrodite, it's really you.

Pygmalion was nervous.

He had been praying to the goddess for months and hadn't received an answer.

All he wanted was for Aphrodite to make Galatea human.

He hoped the goddess of love would find it in her heart to bless him.

Tell me about your love, Aphrodite asked.

She is the most beautiful creature in the world.

Every time I look at her, it takes my breath away.

Would you love her just as much if she was human?

Or do you think you would find yourself bored?

After all, some things are better left in stone.

I could never be bored with her.

I could never be frustrated or annoyed.

My heart belongs to her.

It is my biggest desire to hold her in my arms and have her as my human wife.

Aphrodite decided to give it a chance.

After all, she had nothing to lose.

Give your love a kiss when you return, she said, and and vanished into thin air

pygmalion was confused by aphrodite's abrupt departure and hurried home as fast as he could galatea was right where he had left her obviously and he quickly embraced her and kissed her on the mouth to his shock and delight he felt heat begin to radiate up and down the statue's body The firmness of the ivory began to soften into flesh.

The hard lips he had become so used to kissing turned soft.

He listened as Galatea took her first breath, and then he pulled away and opened his eyes.

It was a miracle.

Galatea was alive and just as beautiful, maybe even more so, than she had been in stone.

Pygmalion, she whispered,

is that you?

Yes, it is my darling.

Are you okay?

Do you need anything?

She shook her head slowly.

What has happened?

Goddess Aphrodite has made you human.

We can spend our days together as husband and wife.

If you'll have me, that is.

He looked at Galatea hopefully.

Of course I will.

It seemed a true miracle had occurred.

Aphrodite had turned Galatea into a human, and Pygmalion was just as in love as he was previously.

And he had the added benefit of being loved in return.

The two got married on a cool fall day.

The entire town was invited.

Pygmalion and Galatea decided not to tell anyone about the uniqueness of their situation and instead told everyone that Galatea was a visitor from out of town.

Still, people were shocked by how Pygmalion had transformed from a grumpy loner to a loving and warm husband.

It really was miraculous.

And although the couple faced their share of challenges over the years, they pretty much did get their fairy tale ending and lived happily ever after.

They had a son, Paphos, and spent many joyful years together.

And through it all, they never stopped praying and thanking the goddess Aphrodite.

Without her, none of this would have been possible.

Because of her blessing, this love story has become one of the most popular Greek myths of all time.

So, what do you think, Oracle?

Have you changed your mind yet?

I mean, come on, it is kind of romantic.

I mean, he loved the statue so much the gods chose to bring it to life.

I do not like this story.

It seems highly improbable and very self-absorbed.

And there were no snakes.

Well, you're right about the snake part, but others might have to disagree with you about the quality of the love story.

The tale of Pygmalion and Galatea has been retold and repackaged throughout the arts for centuries.

It's been the topic of plays and operas and films for decades.

In fact, there is a famous musical called My Fair Lady that's basically a modern adaptation of the tale.

So you see, Oracle, people love love, no matter how strange it is.

I suppose I can't argue with that.

That's it for this week's Greek myth, but not the end of the show.

We have a special treat for our listeners coming up right now.

An excerpt from the upcoming book, Daughter of the Deep, by Rick Riordan.

It's reached.

To be clear, this is an ad, but it's also the first chapter of the book.

Though the excerpt is for everyone, the book is best for readers 10 and up.

Check out the book at bit.ly forward slash greaking dod.

That's bit.ly forward slash G-R-E-E-K-I-N-G-D-O-D.

Chapter 1

Here's the thing about life-shattering days.

start just like any other.

You don't realize your world is about to explode into a million smoking pieces of awfulness until it's too late.

The last Friday of my freshman year, I wake in my dorm room at 5 a.m.

as usual.

I get up quietly so as not to disturb my roommates, change into my bikini and head for the ocean.

I love the campus in the early morning.

The white concrete facades of the buildings are turning pink and turquoise in the sunrise.

The quad's grassy lawn is empty, except for seagulls and squirrels waging their eternal war for the snack crumbs we students have left behind.

The air smells of sea salt, eucalyptus, and fresh cinnamon rolls baking in the cafeteria.

The cool southern California breeze raises goosebumps on my arms and legs.

It's times like this.

I can't believe I'm I'm lucky enough to go to school at Harding Pencroft Academy.

Assuming I survive this weekend's trials, of course.

I might wash out in disgrace or die tangled in a net at the bottom of some underwater obstacle course.

But hey, it's still better than ending the term doing five jillion multiple choice problems on some state standardized test.

I follow the gravel footpath that leads to the ocean.

A hundred yards past the naval warfare building, the cliffs drop into the Pacific.

Far below, white surf ribs the steel blue sea.

Waves rumble and reverberate around the curve of the bay like the snores of a giant.

My brother, Dev, is waiting for me at the edge of the cliff.

You're late, Anna Banana.

He knows I hate it when he calls me that.

I will push you off, I warn.

Well, you could try.

When Dev grins, he does this lopsided squint, like he can't equalize the pressure in one ear.

The other girls tell me it's adorable.

I'm not convinced.

His dark hair is spiky in front, like a sea urchin.

He claims it's his style.

I think it's just because he sleeps with a pillow over his face.

As usual, he's wearing his standard black HP wetsuit wetsuit with the silver shark logo on the front, indicating his house.

Dev thinks I'm crazy to make the dive in a bikini.

In most ways, he's a tough guy.

When it comes to cold temperatures, though, he's kind of a baby.

We do our pre-dive stretches.

This spot is one of the few places along the California coast where you can free dive without getting smashed to pieces against the rocks below.

The cliffs are sheer, plunging straight into the depths of the bay.

It's quiet and peaceful this time of morning.

Despite Dev's responsibilities as a house captain, he's never too busy for our morning ritual.

I love him for that.

What did you bring for Socrates today?

I ask.

Dev gestures nearby.

Two dead squid lie glistening in the grass.

As a senior, Dev has access to the aquarium's feeding supplies.

This means he can sneak little treats for our friend under the bay.

The squid are about a foot long from tail to tentacles, slimy, silver and brown like oxidized aluminum.

Liligo opalescence.

California market squid.

Lifespan six to nine months.

I can't turn off the data stream.

Our marine biology professor, Dr.

Farez, has trained us too well.

You learn to remember the details because everything, literally everything, will be on her quizzes.

Socrates has another name for Liligo opalescents.

He calls them breakfast.

Nice.

I pick up the squid, still cold from the freezer, and hand one to Dev.

You ready?

Hey, before we dive.

His expression turns serious.

I have something I want to give you.

I don't know if he's telling the truth or not, but I always fall for his distractions.

As soon as he has my attention, he turns and jumps off the cliff.

I curse.

Oh, you little...

Whoever jumps in first has a better chance of finding Socrates first.

I take a deep breath and leap after him.

Cliff diving is the ultimate rush.

I freefall ten stories, wind and adrenaline screaming in my ears, then punch through the icy water.

I relish the shock to my system, the sudden cold, the sting of the brine on my cuts and scrapes.

If you don't have cuts and scrapes as a student at HP, you haven't been doing your combat exercises right.

I plunge straight through a school of copper rock fish, dozens of frilly orange and white bruisers who look like punk rock koi.

But their tough looks are just for show, since they scatter with a massive burst of yikes.

Ten meters below me, I spot the shimmering whirlwind of Dev's bubble trail.

I follow it down.

My static apnea record is five minutes.

Obviously, I can't hold my breath that long when I'm exerting myself, but still, this is my environment.

On the surface, Dev has the advantage of strength and speed.

Underwater, I've got the endurance and agility.

At least that's what I tell myself.

My brother floats above the sandy seabed, his legs crossed like he's been meditating there for hours.

He's keeping the squid behind his back because Socrates has arrived and is nuzzling Dev's chest as if to say, Come on, I know what you've got for me.

Socrates is a gorgeous animal.

And I don't say that just because my house is dolphin.

He's a young male bottlenose, nine feet long, with bluish-gray skin and a prominent dark streak across his dorsal fin.

I know he isn't actually smiling.

His long beaked mouth is just shaped that way.

Still, I find it unbelievably cute.

Dev produces his squid.

Socrates snaps it up and swallows it whole.

Dev grins at me, a bubble escaping from his lips.

His expression says, ha ha, the dolphin likes me best.

I offer Socrates my squid.

He's only too happy to have seconds.

He lets me scratch his head, which is as smooth and taut as a water balloon, then rub his pectoral fins.

Dolphins are suckers for pectoral fin rubs.

Then he does something I'm not expecting.

He bucks, pushing my hand up with his rostrum in a gesture I've come to read as, let's go, or hurry.

He veers and swims off, the wake from his tail buffeting my face.

I watch until he disappears into the gloom.

I wait for him to circle back.

He doesn't.

I don't understand.

Usually he doesn't eat and run.

He likes to hang out.

Dolphins are naturally social.

Most days he'll follow us to the surface and leap over our heads, or play hide and seek, or pepper us with squeaks and clicks that sound like questions.

That's why we call him Socrates.

He never gives answers, just asks questions.

But today he seemed agitated, almost worried.

At the edge of my vision, the blue lights of the security grid stretch across the mouth of the bay.

A glowing diamond pattern I've grown used to over the last two years.

As I watch, the lights wink out, then flicker back on.

I've never seen them do that before.

I glance at Dev.

He doesn't appear to have noticed the change in the grid.

He points up.

Race you.

He kicks for the surface, leaving me in a cloud of sand.

I want to stay under longer.

I'm curious to see if the lights go out again, or if Socrates comes back.

But my lungs are burning.

Reluctantly, I follow Dev.

After I join him on the surface and catch my breath, I ask if he saw the grid flicker off.

He squints at me.

Are you sure you weren't just lacking out?

I splash his face.

I'm serious.

We should tell somebody.

Dev wipes the water from his eyes.

He still looks skeptical.

To be honest, I've never understood why we have a state-of-the-art electronic underwater barrier across the mouth of the bay.

I know it's supposed to keep the sea life safe by keeping out everything else, like poachers, recreational divers, and pranksters from our rival high school Land Institute.

But it seems like overkill, even for a school that produces the world's best marine scientists and naval cadets.

I don't know exactly how the grid works.

I do know it isn't supposed to flicker, though.

Dev must see that I'm genuinely worried.

Fine, he says.

I'll report it.

Also, Socrates was acting weird.

A dolphin acting weird.

Okay, I'll report that too.

I could do it.

But like you always say, I'm just a lowly freshman.

You're the big, powerful house captain of the sharks, so he splashes me back.

If you're done being paranoid, I really do have something for you.

He pulls a glittering chain from the pouch of his dive belt.

Happy early birthday, Anna.

He hands me the necklace.

A single black pearl set in gold.

It takes me a second to understand what he's given me.

My chest tightens.

Moms?

I can barely say the word.

The pearl was the centerpiece of mom's Mangal Sutra, her wedding necklace.

It's also the only thing we have left of her.

Dev smiles, though his eyes get that familiar, melancholy drift.

I got the pearl reset.

You'll be 15 next week.

She'd want you to wear it.

This is the sweetest thing he's ever done for me.

I'm going to start weeping.

But

why not wait until next week?

You're leaving for your freshman trials today.

I wanted you to have the pearl for luck.

Just in case, you know, you fail spectacularly or something.

He really knows how to ruin a moment.

Oh, shut up, I say.

He laughs.

I'm kidding, of course.

You're going to do great.

You always do great, Anna.

Just be careful, okay?

I feel myself flush.

I'm not sure what to do with all this warmth and affection.

Well,

the necklace is beautiful.

Thank you.

Course.

He stares at the horizon, a flicker of worry in his dark brown eyes.

Maybe he's thinking about the security grid, or he really is nervous about my weekend trials.

Or maybe he's thinking about what happened two years ago, when our parents flew over that horizon for the last time.

Come on.

He musters another reassuring smile, as he has done so often for my sake.

We'll be late for breakfast.

Always hungry, my brother, and always moving.

The perfect shark captain.

He swims for sure.

I look at my mother's black pearl, her talisman that was supposed to bring long life and protection from evil.

Unfortunately, for her and my father, it didn't either.

I scan the horizon, wondering where Socrates has gone and what he was trying to tell me.

Then I swim after my brother, because suddenly I don't want to be alone in the water.

And there's an exclusive sneak peek into the latest book from author Rick Riordan right here on Greaking Out, an exclusive for you.

I hope you enjoyed it.

Next week, we're going to get spooky.

Oh, yes, just in time for the spookiest of holidays, we will bring you an ancient Greek monster bash.

So get ready for that, friends.

It's coming up next week, right here on Greaking Out.