Pygmalion

 

"You see, really and truly, apart from the things anyone can pick up (the dressing and the proper way of speaking, and so on), the difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated" (63).

Occasionally one comes across a text with baggage. The ambiguity of the preposition in this proclamation is intentional, as the reader brings the baggage and attaches it to the literary work so that the two become inseparable. The result is that the novel no longer stands on its own, and the reader's opinion on and experience with the text are inextricably linked to his or her presuppositions. For this reason, I always attempt to avoid adaptations, summaries, reviews, or any such secondhand interactions with a book on which I desire to form my own independent opinion. Unfortunately, I am not always successful, whether that failing be due to negligence, ignorance, or plain lazy curiosity.

In the case of a book with great social traction, such as Where the Crawdads Sing, I was the victim of all three. I happened upon information about the book from the mouths of my own peers before engaging with the screen adaptation and scrolling through a series of unfortunate online reviews. My judgment of the book was irreparably tainted. While I may have my thoughts, it is difficult to determine if they are objectively begotten or a partial result of my ill-fated journey through the media adjacent to the novel. In other cases, such as with The Lord of the Rings series, watching the movies from a young age aided my understanding and love of the books as I became old enough to read them. My interactions with Tolkien's storytelling previously to actually investing in his writing has indubitably affected my thoughts on the works, but in the positive sense rather than the negative.

For better or worse (and perhaps impossible to mete out the difference), most individual's reading of Pygmalion will be like entering into a relationship late in your 20s. You may have some beloved memories of the early stages of dating, but no doubt they are intertwined with many hesitancies. In some ways, you hope that this new person will carry the good qualities of the others with whom you have matched; the Lord forbid that he or she prove to be too similar. You desire something different, something new, without the person being too far off from the "type" to which you are attracted. 

In approaching Pygmalion, if the reader loves a musical, Audrey Hepburn, Julie Andrews, or the tropes of a mid-twentieth century romantic comedy, the play may or may not be what he or she is looking for. The original text differs enough from the adaptations that it might disappoint a truly die-hard My Fair Lady aficionado. It could also prove to be a refreshingly original take (since it is, in fact, the original) on the classic story of Eliza Doolittle learning to become a lady. Seeing as it is such a short read, the hour or two that it takes to make it through the pages may be a worthy endeavor in order to find out. My own thoughts, confused as they may be, still fit themselves neatly into The List:

1. "I suppose the woman wants to live her own life; and the man wants to live his; and each tries to drag the other on to the wrong track. One wants to go north and the other south; and the result is that both have to go east, though they both hate the east wind" (21).

The irony. If one researches George Bernard Shaw, it is apparent that the dogmatic Professor Higgins may be somewhat autobiographical. He was a man who was quick with an opinionated ideology, and the shock value of a sentiment seemed to hold as much importance as the content. These personality traits arise within the pages of his most famous work. Read literally, Pygmalion could be construed as anything from upsetting to egotistical jargon. The dry and edgy humor so often attributed to the Brits fills the dialogue. Taken as it was intended, with an eye to the dramatic demonstration of human archetypes, the outlandishly exaggerated characters manifest as the sarcastic representations of class and gender that they are meant to be. As an American reader, even one who typically loves the bite and wit in British literature, I find that my enjoyment of the play has increased upon subsequent reads as I train myself to take each interaction as the parody that it is.

2. "What call would a woman with that strength in her have to die of influenza? What become of her new straw hat that should have come to me? Somebody pinched it; and what I say is, them as pinched it done her in" (39).

The humor. This point is an extension of the previous, as irony is the intended mode of humor throughout most of the book. Eliza, the clueless flower girl, takes up with Professor Higgins, the man who she believes will train her to be "proper" and enable her to open her own flower shop. Higgins' deplorable habits and tendencies slowly reveal themselves; Eliza herself affects change on the upper society to which she gradually gains entrance. Her good-natured lack of awareness gives way as Higgins continues inexorably in the direction of selfish and sloppy bachelorhood. Ultimately, the ignorantly asinine Higgins is excommunicated from his own social group in favor of the surprisingly charming and self-possessed lady that Eliza has always been--he merely plays a role in smoothing away the rough edges hiding her true magnanimity of character.

3. "Why did you take my independence from me? Why did I give it up? I'm a slave now, for all my fine clothes" (69).

The social commentary. Descending from the ironic and humorous characterization of British society, the discourse on class and gender is not only for the purpose of entertainment. Alfred Doolittle, Eliza's hapless father, undergoes a transformation of his own. He begins as a self-declared member of the "undeserving poor" class. Upon coming into a bit of wealth, he then requires himself to adhere to the rules of "middle-class morality": marrying his lover, supporting his daughter, dressing and behaving in a respectable manner. He is angry about acquiring the possessions that propagate this reality. Eliza is similarly trapped as an educated woman with proper manners, as she embarked upon the whole journey of bettering herself so that she could attain better vocational opportunities. However, upon mastering gentrification of dress and speech, she becomes enslaved to the expectations and standards of high society...a world in which women of her "status" are not permitted to work. Where all of this madcap contradiction leads is up to the reader to decide. Shaw presents the world as he was it in its extremes and allows for the interpretive interaction of those who stumble upon his work.

4. "I sold flowers. I didn't sell myself...I've got a little of my own back" (52-53).

The search for identity. In light of all this intentional and sometimes unintentional change, Eliza, the centerpiece of the story, is molded by her ever-shifting environment. While Pygmalion may be a partial blueprint for the plot of a prototypical hallmark romance, the ending contains that Shaw flair that does not allow for something as unrealistic and prosaic as a "happy ending." The My Fair Lady adaptation leaves the aftermath of the movie/musical up to interpretation (albeit with a strong suggestion that Eliza and Higgins may have more to do with one another after the story's ending); the original play will leave room for no such ambiguous romantic musings. This inclusion is one that I applaud. There is nothing wrong with a love that conquers against all odds (see my review of The Scarlet Pimpernel if you are looking for such a story). But I love that Shaw so stoically avoids that storyline. It is refreshing to have an author determinedly write that no, in fact, the relationship between Eliza and Higgins is NOT the point! There is so much intermittent playfulness and exposition on human nature and society that a shoe-horned happily ever after was never on his mind. Shaw even wrote an epilogue just to undermine those who thought they might speculate on how the couple could possibly come together in the end.

Why read Pygmalion? It is brief, thought-provoking, and indecorously funny. You may want to read it twice, and perhaps it will start to influence the way that you approach My Fair Lady and other variations.