Rachel

 Dear C,

Thank you for asking about the translator of Marie-Hélène Brousse’s book, The Feminine – A Mode of Jouissance (New York, Libretto, 2022), at the London Workshop of the Freudian Field last week (16 May 2026).

Yes, Janet Rachel was the name I chose for that publication. I had translated the book with the help of many people, and Rachel turned up towards the end of that process and persuaded me to give her some credit. She has always been interested in the question of femininity and feminism, in fact Rachel and I first got together in the early 1990s just after the breakup from my first love. This was just before I met Lacan and psychoanalysis. Rachel turned up when I cancelled my surname. I was well and truly fed up and wanted to ditch my patronym and set off on my own.

After going through the most immediate solution (e.g. reverting to my mother’s maiden name, rejected on the grounds that he was also another father), Rachel whispered in my ear, reminding me that she had been sitting quietly between my first and last name for quite a long time, and perhaps it was time to come out. After a little research, I was happy to discover that Rachel is the name of one of the matriarchs in the Bible even though she never had a child of her own. That, in a nutshell, was how it happened in 1992 ... or thereabouts. It was a success.

Together, Rachel and I created performances and presentations; wrote papers and put on plays; we wrote poetry and staged poetry readings and even signed up for a Masters in Psychoanalysis at Brunel University. We completed the MA and Rachel is proud that her name is on that certificate. But when I decided to undertake my own personal analysis and even to undertake a formation in order to practice, she f**ked off. “No way!” said she. And I didn’t see her again until Covid struck.

She re-emerged to remind me that I had taken out a couple of pensions back in the old days, and that they must by now be mature. Her name was on one of them, but it would be cynical to say she was only interested in the money. I believe she had also noticed that I was translating MHB’s book. After she helped me to sort through the paperwork for the pensions she then eagerly persuaded me to take the cash and spend it on horses. Together we embarked on two courses, where her name is also inscribed – one was the qualification to become an Equine Facilitated Psychotherapist, the other was a course in “Horse Speak” in which I discovered that horses communicate with body language and even seem to make sentences (I’ve written about some of that in this blog).

While all this was happening, I continued to inch my way through the translation of MHB’s fantastic book. It is a short book, but needed a lot of care in translation. Rachel could not resist getting involved. She is still a feminist and began to be intrigued by the argument of the text. It was a pleasure to see her response to the old questions we had raised together in the 1990s about feminism, language, and the body.

Eventually she elbowed her way into one of my analytic sessions, and dazzled and, dare I say it, seduced my analyst. Before I knew where I was, Rachel was digging a channel for my jouissance that led me to write her name in the book. Poor old John was at my side, reminding me that we were now married, and that he it was who put in most of the elbow grease that led to such a good job being done of the text.

I have to admit Rachel is a seducer. She persuaded me to change my FaceBook name and even my Twitter handle, and JAM, no less, endorsed this by giving us a shout-out under the new (old) name. But ... but ... but...

Reality gradually re-emerged. Rachel soon realised that I was up to my eyeballs in Psychoanalysis, and that John was no small part of my life. Although John is not in analysis, never has been, never wants to (this is a trait he shares with Rachel), he has been fully supportive of my efforts and my ethics in this direction, and is often to be found by my side when I am translating, reading, and writing for this field.

Is Rachel the name of my symptom? Or is she the name I could give to the real of my unconscious? Has she been repressed, foreclosed, or disavowed? She represents a particular pathway of enjoyment. She led me into performance, she led me to the ponies. John supported my decision to take psychoanalysis more seriously and go to Paris for my analysis. John reads out loud with me. John edits my writing with me. John reads my translations and helps me track down the footnotes. And John is a fan of the horses.

Rachel is indeed still a part of me, but without symbolising her name, who can say where has she gone? Where have I put her? Perhaps she the thing I constantly lose: "where’s my …” perhaps I could say: “where’s my Rachel?” 

I often feel unable to get on with what I’m supposed to be doing, and end up berating myself for something I’m lacking? Could this be turned into: “If only I had my Rachel, then I would be able to ...” 

Might I mistake her for my imaginary phallus? An powerful feminine enjoyment. Might that sometimes be useful? 

Perhaps it is best to think of her as that extra bit that I was born with but difficulty finding the proper use for. The bit that doesn't seem to have it's own place, no address in which to house her. I never know where she is, or what she is up to, or what she might do if she were to materialise. If I must make a new alliance with jouissance, I suppose it will have to include something named Rachel.

So, thank you again, dear C, for asking about this stranger and for giving me this opportunity to introduce her.