By explaining the myth, you could be affecting the reading experience of a sizable proportion of the listeners.
Very good point. And I'd say that whenever I, myself would do that (I can't speak for Rachel, or anyone else who might host), that's exactly what I intend.
I was thinking about this question as I was driving to pick my son up from soccer. I think that maybe some people approach stories as...puzzles? Where you try to "figure out" what it means. In which case, having someone tell you about Astarte, or Galatea, or whatever, is a kind of cheating and makes your experience of the story somehow "less fun" than it would be if you'd figured it out yourself.
That's the only model under which I can see preferring not to be told, say, the myth of Galatea up front, for a story that references it.
But I don't think stories are puzzles. Well, okay, some are. Allegories are--real allegories, I mean, not just stories you can force allegorical meanings on to. (As an example, The Wizard of Oz is not an allegory, but if you google, you can find a fairly complex allegorical breakdown of it. It's not a product of the text, but of human pattern-making tendencies.) Some surprise-ending short-shorts are. Murder mysteries are.
But most stories aren't. You don't "solve" a story. Stories don't, by and large, have a correct answer.
Stories are more like music. Let's say you go down to the symphony hall to hear...oh, Schubert's Fifth Symphony. And there's a talk beforehand. Someone explains that the first movement is in sonata form, and explains how that works, and plays the first and second themes on the piano. She tells you that the first theme will be in the main key of the piece (in this case B flat major) and the second will be in a different key entirely--in this case, a fifth away from B flat, so F, but sometimes in other first movements (first movements of symphonies are always in sonata form) it might be the relative minor. Since she plays them right there for you, you can hear how they sound different, in different keys. She explains that the whole middle of the piece will be variations of those two themes in all sorts of keys, so you should listen for that. And then finally the movement will end with the two main themes restated plainly, but this time both in a nice, satisfying B flat major.
Now, you could have listened to the movement without knowing that, and it would have been very nice. It's a lovely, charming piece, I recommend it. But knowing what you're listening for, it's even nicer. Knowing all that, yes, it does change your experience of listening to the piece--for the better.
When a writer references a myth, or another writer's work, or whatever, she doesn't generally do it as a clue to a mystery that you're supposed to figure out. She does it so that it will resonate
while you're reading. Those things are there to tell you right up front, "you should be thinking of this." Especially if it's in the title, or the opening paragraphs, or the name of a major character. It's like Schubert stating those two themes, plain as day, in the opening to the first movement, and then repeating them exactly. "Look, this is what you need to listen to if you want to understand the rest of the movement! Got it? Okay, here we go."
Sometimes the piece is, say, atonal. If you're not used to it, it's hard to hear the themes as melodies, let alone understand their variations. (metaphor, straining but still holding....) So the lady before the concert, playing them a few times on the piano, talking about them--it makes your listening experience make more sense, makes it less frustrating.
That's why, when I see a reference like that, right up in the title, say, or really obviously there, and I'm pretty sure a lot of people won't get it, I'm going to mention it. Yes, it will alter the experience, that's exactly why I want to do it.
Sometimes they are a bit on the rambling side
Me? Ramble???
Seriously--it's a fair cop.
