Although I was eager to read something else from Michael Joyce, I was soon unmotivated to read through the entire story. The story line was difficult to follow and the characters were hard to distinguish. After reading for a while, I soon wondered when it would be over. Although both “Afternoon” and “Twelve Blue” are not my cup of tea, I would choose “Afternoon” as the better text.
I did, however, enjoy the language used in “Twelve Blue.” My favorite page was when Joyce wrote, “Everything can be read, every surface and silence, every breath and every vacancy, every eddy and current, every body and its absence, every darkness every light, each cloud and knife, each finger and tree, every backwater, every crevice and hollow, each nostril, tendril and crescent, every whisper, every whimper, each laugh and every blue feather, each stone, each nipple, every thread every color, each woman and her lover, every man and his mother, every river, each of the twelve blue oceans and the moon, every forlorn link, every hope and every ending, each coincidence, the distant call of a loon, light through the high branches of blue pines, the sigh of rain, every estuary, each gesture at parting, every kiss, each wasp’s wing, every foghorn and railway whistle, every shadow, every gasp, each glowing silver screen, every web, the smear of starlight, a fingertip, rose whorl, armpit, pearl, every delight and misgiving, every unadorned wish, every daughter, every death, each woven thing, each machine, every ever after” (p. sl8_11) Joyce made everyday things into something of significance. I found myself rereading this page to get a grasp on everything that was mentioned.
I was also pleased with the figurative language used in this text. “The trimmings she saved and cast out on the water like pollen, all the pretty colors. They would sink like barren nymphs for the fish to bump with fleshy lips, float for birds to pluck away and decorate the muddy basket of a nest.” (p. sl4) The similie and descriptive language makes me visualize the seen being described. Joyce continues, “Samantha played music in her room, so loud it floated down upon the water like settling fog. The marsh shone with rainbow feathers of oil. Already the water chestnuts were choking the channel.” (p. sl4) This page was my second favorite to read, as the scene was sad, it was also peaceful.