the Alchemist and the Green Knight

merry Christmas! what better day than to do a retrospective on my opinions on the Green Knight?

this week I read the Alchemist. having seen it in bookstores and been recommended it for years but never having read it myself, I went in with a strange mix of notions: that it was life-changing, that it was several friends’ favorite book; but also that it was over-rated, simplistic, and self-reinforcing. in order to experience it as honestly as possible, I told myself that I would judge it only for what it was trying to be, and not by any other metric.

I’ll explain more what I mean by “any other metric” in a moment, but I want to first say that this was the right choice. the Alchemist is a lovely little book about trusting the universe and the deepest parts of yourself, and about discerning what is honestly coming from that deepest part. although not the most often quoted, the passage that most struck me is the part of the book where the boy has a conversation with his heart. despite being on a long, arduous journey in search of his “Personal Legend,” his heart quails and says he can always go back to being a shepherd — safe, and familiar. it takes listening even deeper to realize that he (and his heart) really do want to continue his pursuit rather than return to safety.

as an artist, this resonated with me deeply.

however, even in the course of my reading, I was aware of a part of myself — an analytical part, but also a part that craves a just world — which wanted to dissect the Alchemist bit by bit, disproving it like it were a malformed argument. “The Universe does not conspire to help everyone who pursues their dreams,” this part of me said, “your premise is wrong! your conclusion is wrong!”

and that was the moment that I saw two things:

first, that I had done this exact thing to the Green Knight and had dismissed its overall message because of that and,

second, that these two works were actually in a sort of dialogue with each other, and they both deserved to be analyzed from a literature perspective rather than an analytic one.

so, here is what I mean when I say that I wanted to judge The Alchemist on what it’s trying to be: I understood that this was a book which had spoken to many people, especially when they read it in their youths, and which had helped them see that discernment and listening and being are all necessary to understanding one’s purpose in life. and the other metric by which I could judge it? well, if I use that metric, it’s ridiculous. the book is absurd. what about people who grow up in abusive situations, or who are subject to systemic injustice, or are otherwise incapable of following their “Personal Legends” and listening to their hearts?

but that’s not what the book is about — and it’s not trying to be. I didn’t want to judge it by something it wasn’t trying to be.

but I had done this exact thing to the Green Knight, and I think it’s worth taking the time to go back to that story. here is what I mean when I say these two stories are in dialogue with each other:

first, they are both about a young person having to make a difficult decision. he can do the easy thing, or he can do the hard thing, and he chooses the hard thing even though he sort of doesn’t want to.

second, they both contend with the result of that choice by way of mentor characters and further tests. the protagonist is forced to go on a journey that, more than once, he considers ending; but he also sees things of extraordinary beauty that may have the power to change him.

third, they are both fundamentally about understanding the message or guiding star inside one’s own heart (soul, mind, whatever). here is where the stories wildly diverge and say different things, but they are still fundamentally asking the same question about life and existence.

in the Alchemist, Santiago has a clear guiding star: he has had a recurring dream showing him finding treasure at the pyramids. he must go there. he must.

in the Green Knight, Sir Gawain has impulsively chosen to cut off the head of the immortal Green Knight, and must therefore meet him on Christmas Day to have the favor returned. he must go there. he must.

Santiago seeks fortune, Sir Gawain his own demise. (it should be noted, of course, that I am not talking about the original Romantic Poem or whatever, of course I have not read that, I am not that kind of nerd (sorry) I am talking about the extremely gorgeous 2021 film which I wrote a rather reductive blog post about some months ago.) while it remains uncertain in both stories whether the journey will actually hold the promised end — Santiago never knows if the treasure is real, Gawain hopes that in having the courage to return the Green Knight will spare him — it is also quite clear that result of the journeys will mean very different things if they turn out fruitless. Santiago’s story tells us that the journey is worthwhile after all; that by trusting the universe, we gain the treasure even if we never gain the treasure, so to speak. Gawain’s story is not so straightforward. it is true that by going to meet the Green Knight, he will have proven himself brave, honest, and true; but Gawain never feels brave, honest, or true, even when he is acting so.

here is where I think this comparison becomes deeply fascinating. Santiago has a guiding star in his heart. Sir Gawain does not, and never has. he begins the story deceitful and cowardly, and nothing on his journey can truly change this fact about him, save finally being beheaded by the Green Knight. can you trust the universe when you cannot trust yourself? I don’t think I’m subtle enough to answer the Green Knight’s question, so I’ll just raise it instead.

now, I wanted to bring this up because I realized, on conclusion of the Alchemist, that I had done the Green Knight dirty in two ways: first, by not letting it be what it wanted to be — it wanted to be a story about a young person with agency and that simply meant using a male character given the time period, I get that now — but second, and even more interestingly I think, by refusing to identify with the protagonist.

when I first met Gawain, I saw him as deeply flawed, but I assumed that the movie was going to show him changing. I assumed that there was, inside him, some deeper way in which he actually was brave and honest and true. when, at the end of the movie, Gawain sees the life he could be allowed to live, he contends truly with the fact that he is fundamentally dishonest and cowardly.

as a person with a Personal Legend who, like Santiago, talks to their heart and sometimes feels betrayed by it but often feels a sort of holy synchronicity, I think I simply rejected the notion that anyone could really feel how Sir Gawain feels.

what a beautiful thing art is, that it can show us the truth.

I’ll endeavor to experience all stories with this new mindset.