THE MIDDLER

In a caste system based on birth order, a lowly middle child wants to matter.

It’s the late 21st century. Tools are mostly powered by hand, and cars are rare. Eldests—children born first in their family—are revered. Schools tout their bravery and heroism daily in compulsory chants. Then, at age 14, they go to military camp, never to be seen again. They’re fighting the Quiet War, so named because their sacrifice allows everyone else to live quietly, unbothered. Eleven-year-old “Maggie-middler” doesn’t think much about the war, but she wants attention. Forbidden at all costs from interacting with those who live outside the town limits (“shame upon the wanderers,” says the chant), Maggie makes friends with a wanderer girl anyway—then decides to turn the girl’s father in to the mayor. Debut novelist Applebaum’s prose sings. Forbidden air outside the town’s boundary carries the scent “of crisp, red apples” even though there are no apple trees nearby. Trios of alliterated adjectives shift as Maggie’s awareness grows: Wanderers are “Dirty. Dangerous. Deceitful,” but when Maggie sees one victimized, he’s “Bleeding, battered, bruised.” Maggie’s unpredictable route to heroism involves a secret that renders moot any textual confrontation of the “eldest edict” readers might hope for, but it’s nonetheless satisfying. Characters seem white by default save one family whose name hints at South Asian origins. Disability and disfigurement are depicted gently, with respect.

Careful, serious, indelible.