ABSTRACT
The catch remains that the middle child has to bear those blisters as well as the knowledge of never belonging. The popular commercial fiction is always kept at a distance, a humiliating distance that marks its incapability in ever passing as ‘real writing’. Tangled in nameless chaos, the middle child becomes skilled in the art of negotiation to gain attention and establish a presence in a space where the things often come to her already divided between the eldest and the youngest. The middle child often gets subdued, her voice left unheard and unseen. Taking away the voice takes away one’s right to exercise its agency and popular commercial fiction is no stranger to this violation of its agency. The middle child of the literary family is used as a measure of standards of what is good writing and what is not often being associated with the latter.
