Stalked by Slavoj
30 June 2024
Slavoj Žižek has always been my biggest fan, and I have spent the last 28 yeas trying to get away from him.
It all began in 1996, when he wrote a glowing endorsement for my dictionary of Lacanian psychoanalysis:
Evan’s book fully deserves the qualifications usually found on the covers of mass-market bestsellers (“unputdownable”, “page turner”). This breathtaking achievement undermines the false opposition between high theory and simplified popularisation: it provides one of the rare examples of a genuine elitism for the masses, combining the highest conceptual rigor and detailed knowledge of the most intricate twists of Lacan’s teaching with the capacity to present concepts in a clear and articulate way. It is a safe bet that, in a couple of years, this book will become a standard reference.
At first I was thrilled to receive such high praise from one of the leading Lacanian intellectuals of the day, but even then I suspected that he might have a dangerous crush on me, and I didn’t need another stalker. I therefore cut all ties with him, even to the point, a few years later, of openly rejecting Lacan and embracing evolutionary psychology — all in the hope of making myself disgusting to him.
My apostasy had the opposite to its intended effect; Slavoj became even more devoted to me, and I even heard rumours that he would regularly masturbate over my dictionary. I began to suspect he was a pervert, in the Lacanian sense of the term, as he never seemed to get bored of me.
But Slavoj was smart. He did everything he could to cover his tracks and and make out as if he couldn’t care less about me. He carefully avoided making any public statements about me, let alone comment on any more of my books. Nobody else except me was aware of his obsession with me. When I confessed the secret to my friends, they dismissed my concerns as the ravings of a madman, an esoteric form of erotomania. Finally, when I told the authorities, they locked me up in a psychiatric hospital. Talk about blaming the victim!
In the end, I was worn down by his relentless pursuit. Like so many women before me, I finally gave up trying to escape, and attempted to appease my stalker. I converted back to Lacanianism in the hope that this might satisfy his lust for my soul, and thereby avert his more carnal desires. But of course this strategy never works; it merely emboldens the abuser. Now he sits at home gloating over his victory. He finally succeeded in making me his bitch.
