Žižek’s showing off again
By Erik B. Anderson
This piece in the London Review of Books was like most of Slavoj Žižek’s work. It is Žižek showing off again, an exercise in how smart Žižek is, how much he knows about other people's ideas. He obviously takes great delight in what he knows about, but it's a hodge-podge of other people's ideas put together. Does Žižek have a fundamental idea of his own? If so, I haven't found it. His work is a pastiche in the Jamesonian sense. I myself am guilty of putting together other people's ideas, so I don't think I'm better than him. I just don't know what his point is, other than being an ambassador to the world for Lacanian Psychoanalysis and Leftist Marxism with his zeal and his obvious energy for writing and publishing non-stop, all day, every day. He does a lot of good for this world, I think. He makes me want to read all about Agamben, Badiou, Berlosconi and Hitchcock, but I also think he's over-compensating for something: Namely, the lack of any fundamental idea of his own from which to grow and flourish.
If he would focus on his own idea like it were a garden, he could relax a bit and watch it grow - stop and smell the flowers, and all. But instead, he hops from garden to garden to garden all the way around the world, yanking at a weed here, watering some dry ground there...giving a little advice to the owner of the garden. He reminds me of my mother, who cannot sit still. Since my father died, she has moved to Mexico, taken cruises to Alaska, Hawaii, all over South America and the Caribbean, spent a lot of time in Guatemala...gone on road trips around the state of Baja California and the Western United States, celebrated her birthday in New York City and Williamsburg, Virginia...gone to London, Ireland, Spain and Beijing...and those are just the places she has told me about. I stopped talking to her about all those places because she just makes me sad. She doesn't seem to get anything out of those experiences.
Besides visiting my mother in Mexico, I have only been out of the country three times, myself: to Hong Kong when I was twelve; to Ghana when I was twenty-one, and to Jamaica when I was twenty-eight. Each time was a very powerful experience which became part of who I am. I probably wouldn't mind dying in any of those three places because what I got from my visit there was so monumental. But my mother just buys a T-shirt, or a piece of art, and then can't wait to get to the next party spot. I feel like Žižek is similar, except he does it with ideas. He likes to extol the virtues of the Psychoanalysts and the Leninists, but would he put his life, or his livelihood, on the line for any of those ideas? I just don’t know. As critical of Postmodernism as he says he is, he just can’t shake the ironic detachment that makes him want to ramble from Ahmadinejad and Berlosconi to Ronald Reagan and Kung Fu Panda, ultimately arriving at Agamben. These are all excellent points, but what is their effect? It doesn’t make this reader stand up and compose a stirring tribute that would surely get him nominated for the Nobel Prize. It makes me want to exclaim, “Cool! Let’s Hang Out!” in a very immature way. Watching a movie with Slavoj Žižek would be one of the highlights of my life, I would do that in a second if the oportunity presented itself. But, would I want him with me when the shit hits the proverbial fan? I'm not certain.
I hope I'm wrong. I used to collect Žižek’s books compulsively. At one point, I had almost twenty of them. So I have an idea what I'm talking about, but I didn’t read a single one past the first chapter. . Unfortunately, the only thing of his that I actually enjoyed was the first chapter of
The Sublime Object of Ideology. That's the only thing I remember. It's the only thing worth memorializing, in my opinion. I just stopped reading his stuff because so much of it was exhausting and too dense. Maybe some of his books are substantial, but when I read any of his other
books and
articles, I always find myself just looking at signposts directing me to Freud or David Lynch or Kung Fu Panda. I am grateful for it, don't get me wrong. But, I enjoy reading more substantial writers like Andre Green, James Baldwin or R.D. Laing – Ann Rule, Dennis Lehane or Doris Kearns Goodwin -- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, William Shakespeare or Thomas Mann. My time on this planet is short, and there is much to read. Žižek’s on my radar, for sure, but what he writes is just clutter compared to these writers.
I honestly hope that Žižek never stops writing. My life changed after I discovered him in 2001. I saw him speak just a few days after my father died in 2003. He shines lights on subjects that no one else in the world would consider looking at; using colors that no one else in the world would consider using. He is quite remarkable, and he is definitely making a name for himself in the annals of human history. He will be remembered by many people, which can't be said for most people in this world. He is an excellent cultural critic. I wish I could be published as widely as him, but I feel sorry for him that he can't just take his time and write a few good pieces. I wish he would stop writing with so much ferocious intensity. His method has turned into his madness. He should write something truly awesome, something that would change the world or make it stop entirely. Then...THEN..well, wouldn't we all like to do something like that?
Stop showing off, Slavoj, and show us something!
