Pressman’s essay Navigating Electronic Literature was such an insightful read, especially in the way it unpacked just how expansive the world of electronic literature can be. What struck me most was her explanation of hypertext, one of the earliest and most influential forms of electronic literature.
Pressman explains:
“In a hypertext the reader navigates a non-linear, branching narrative by clicking on hyperlinks to access new lexias, or chunks of text. For example, clicking on the underlined, hyperlink words ‘the bodies,’ ‘police,’ or ‘window’ in the following screen triggers the appearance of new windows (or lexias) containing different narrative text and yielding new reading paths.”
What fascinates me is how much agency the reader has in navigating the story. The order of reading isn’t fixed; instead, it depends entirely on which links are clicked, which paths are followed, and which connections are made. Every journey through a hypertext feels unique, crafted by both the author’s design and the reader’s choices. Electronic literature like this reminds me that reading isn’t always passive. Sometimes, it’s an act of discovery.
Another idea that stood out in Pressman’s essay is her reference to critic Espen Aarseth, who argues that authors of hypertexts preprogram the paths readers can take, allowing only “trivial” rather than productive engagement. While I can see this point, my experience with Twelve Blue suggests that navigating a hypertext can still be deeply engaging and thought-provoking. Even within the paths the author designed, the act of choosing, pausing, and exploring made me reflect not only on my role as a reader but also on how literature itself can be structured and understood. The experience highlighted how reading can be an active process, one where meaning emerges through both the design of the text and the choices we make as we move through it.
Reading through Twelve Blue by Michael Joyce was fun but also challenging. I found myself clinging to each hypertext before moving on, only to discover that clicking opened yet another page with yet another link, and then another. It felt endless—like having too many tabs open at once or falling down one rabbit hole after another. The experience was equal parts overwhelming and compelling, drawing me into a world that resisted structure and certainty.
Joyce describes Twelve Blue as:
“A drowning, a murder, a friendship, three or four love affairs, a boy and a girl, two girls and their mothers, two mothers and their lovers, a daughter and her father, a father and his lover, seven women, three men, twelve months, twelve threads, eight hours, eight waves, one river, a quilt, a song, twelve interwoven stories, a thousand memories. Twelve Blue explores the way our lives—like the web itself or a year, a day, a memory, or a river—form patterns of interlocking, multiple, and recurrent surfaces.”
That description captures exactly how the reading experience feels: fragmented yet interconnected, chaotic yet carefully designed. It’s not about reaching a neat ending, but about embracing the patterns and overlaps that emerge through exploration. For someone like me, who thrives on structure in reading and writing, Twelve Blue initially felt challenging. It broke away from the predictable order I’m already used to relying on. Yet, as I navigated the nonlinear paths and followed link after link, I began to notice the beauty in learning through exploration. The experience reminded me that there is no single way to approach learning; knowledge and understanding can emerge from multiple paths and perspectives. In this sense, the challenge of the hypertext became part of the lesson, showing me that growth often happens when we step outside familiar patterns or comfort zone as we say.
