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If I Ran for President
by Catherine Stier; illustrated by Lynne Avril

Albert Whitman & Co.

How fitting that the child on the cover is African-American, just two days after Barack Obama's historic win in the Iowa caucuses. Because now when this book, like so many others, says anyone can run for president, you can read it with conviction in your voice, regardless of your political persuasion.

There are the usual caveats, as an introduction cautiously points out: you have to be born here, for one. And it tries to sum up our baffling electoral college in a few quick lines.

But then we move swiftly into the election cycle--the year of media blitz, campaign stops, caucuses and primaries and conventions and The Big Night in early November. It's a taut summary of what it takes to run, filled with cutesy-isms like the candidate showing off his straight-A report card or favorite pets frolicking in the oval office.

We get this all from a kid's eye view. Or rather, several views, as it rotates through six different kids of varying ethnicities; three of each gender, all without making any mention of such skin-deep differences.

It all sounds giddily exciting, a year of wow-bam-wahoo fun, nevermind all the nasty adult stuff like partisan attacks, media stalking and those nasty campaign ads. There's plenty of time for kids to lose their innocence about that stuff--the New Hampshire primary's tomorrow, after all.

Rating: *\*\*\

The Only Boy in Ballet Class
by Denise Gruska; illustrated by Amy Wummer

Reviewed by Kelly Herold

Being the boy who likes ballet—or figure skating, or clogging, or, well, you get the picture—is never easy. When you’re the boy who likes ballet, you’re usually the only boy in your dance class. And that's the least of your problems. Often, other boys at school will make fun of you. And, surely, there’s a disapproving relative—an uncle, or a grandmother, or a parent—who will try to convince you that ballet is simply not appropriate for boys.

Enter Denise Grushka’s The Only Boy in Ballet Class, a book for those children who love something so passionately they can’t help but following their dreams. “Tucker Dohr loves to dance ... The other kids think he’s weird, but he can’t help it. It feels right to him. Like breathing.”

Tucker loves to dance so much that he tries to ignore the fact that he’s the “last one picked for softball. And basketball. And volleyball. He tries to pretend that he doesn’t care. He reminds himself that he’d rather dance anyway.” But we all know ignoring only helps so much when you’re in grade school. The small print in parentheses tells us, “But sometimes he has to cry about it at night when he’s alone.”

The boys playing football are the cruelest to Tucker and he has to endure their taunts on the way to his afternoon class each time he attends. But, and this is what I like best about The Only Boy in Ballet Class, the bullying is simply a conflict and a fact of life, not the focus of the story. Tucker’s love of dance and his passion for movement stays front and center and, thanks to Amy Wummer’s charming and accessible illustrations, comes through to the reader. We dance with Tucker when he needs to “leap over Marbles” (the family cat) or “spin past his tricky, tricky twin sisters.” We feel Tucker’s joy in movement and want to dance along.

Sprinkled with an offering of ballet terms, Grushka’s text is lively and will appeal most to readers ages four to nine. Her resolution of the bully conflict is unexpected, but fitting with Tucker’s joyful nature and the magic of dance. The Only Boy in Ballet Class is for all the “different” kids of the world and should be required reading in the first through third grades.

Rating: *\*\*\

The Latke Who Couldn't Stop Screaming: A Christmas Story
by Lemony Snicket; illustrations by Lisa Brown

McSweeney's Books

What, a Lemony Snicket picture book? Oh please, pretty please, may I have one?

Or not. Shrug.

The publisher not being the usual sort to make the kidlit blogging circuit, I had no idea if a review copy would be forthcoming. It was.

And, joy of interfaith joys, the book is indeed wryly funny and lightly philosophical, and by this I mean that it gets its point across without bruising you with repeated beatings.

Its billing as a Christmas story should alert Jewish readers that the story isn't necessarily aimed at them; it's designed to give Christians a feel for being on the outside looking in. By now, many people will know that Snicket is the pseudonym for Daniel Handler, and his wife illustrated this stocking-stuffer-sized book about feeling left out, misunderstood and literally out in the cold.

"This story ends in someone's mouth, but it begins in a tiny village more or less covered in snow."

This is one of the better opening lines I've read, smartly setting up my expectations without giving too much away. There's only one house in the village that isn't all lit up for Christmas, and us grownups know why, of course. Inside that suspicious house, a potato pancake leaps from the frying pan out into the peppermint-scented night, where he meets various Christmas decorations.

If the hot oil starts his screaming, the unknowing and pat attitudes he gets about his signature holiday get him boiling mad. "I'm not hash browns!" he yells at one point. The explanations of Hanukkah are terse and hasty -- not likely to fill in blanks for "you're-basically-hash-browns" ignoramuses -- and at one point Handler mistakes the Talmud for the Torah (my husband does the same), but all comes out right at the end.

Handler, in the forlorn, wistful narrative voice that's signature Snicket, has some kind and thoughtful words for both faiths, followed immediately by the ending he promised, and which has grown funnier precisely because we know to anticipate it.

There's some wonderful legerdemain with a pine tree, and many pages of that screaming starch patty to induce fits of giggles. But is this really a kids' book?

If your Jewish child is old enough to feel his patience wearing thin at Christmas time, or if your Christian child wonders what's up with those pathetic dorks who don't put up blinking lights like normal people, then this might be one darkly humorous way to deepen that conversation.

Rating: *\*\*\

Poop: A History of the Unmentionable
by Nicola Davies; illustrated by Neal Layton

Candlewick Press

Oh yeah, a POOP book. Kids won't like that, will they? I mean, it's only a wee-sized book about POOP, not anything designed to appeal to kids, whom we all know prefer to read about nice, clean subjects, like manners and respecting grown-ups and how not to insist in a whiny voice that you must read them a book about POOP right now, pleeeeez.

Ach. I'm disowning both of them.

Did you know that poop gets its nauseating hue from all the colors of our food blending in our intestines? See? An art lesson. And blue whales have pink poop. And you can tell all about animals from their poop. And cute bunny wabbits EAT THEIR OWN POOP. Right out of their butts.

Oh yeah, kids will just hate this. And those scribbly, colorful drawings just like a kid would make? They'll hate that too.

In fact, between this and the parasite book, I predict Davies and Layton will have no sales whatsoever and will have to take up a useful, productive hobby, like re-teaching my kids manners, now that they ask for POOP at the dinner table. Gah.

Rating: *\*\*\

What's Eating You? Parasites -- The Inside Story
by Nicola Davies; illustrated by Neal Layton

Candlewick Press

Ew! Ew! Ew! Need I say more? Ew!

I'm not showing this one to my kids. Nightmare time! At least for Mom.

In 60 stomach-churning pages, we learn all about the critters who make their home in fur, hair, tummies and, oh, gawd, you don't want to know. Want to know the grossest? Me neither.

There are lots of, uh, fun facts on parasites of every size and disposition, from how they find their hosts to where they set up camp. I got a serious case of the ickies, and you will too, but there's some useful info on how to avoid them (though no mention of taking your malaria shots before you go overseas ... hello!).

It's more of a novelty book, so it's compact and easily lost. Hooray. There's not much else to say. Just shudder, shut it, and tuck it under the rug for the fleas to find.

Rating: *\*\*\

Why War is Never a Good Idea
by Alice Walker

HarperCollins

Today is International Peace Day (and, incidentally, the Eve of Yom Kippur, Judaism's holiest day), and this poem about war drops like jagged pieces of glass into your conscience, intensely sharp but, in the right light, shining and beautiful.

Set aside the word "never" in the title. You could make a good case for many wars in history, but we're not concerned with polemics here. Walker makes a character out of War; watchful and insidious, unconcerned and toxic:

Though War is Old
It has not
Become wise
It will not hesitate
To destroy
Things that
Do not
Belong to it
Things very
Much older
Than itself.

Vitale's art drives the point home, literally. Turn the page on a lovely Asian panorama and the paper becomes wrapped around a filthy wheel with its rusting hubcap. Vibrantly hued renderings of azure skies, sun-dappled fields and teeming jungles channel Henri Rousseau or perhaps Paul Gauguin with their fondness for the primitive, in this case symbolizing the pristine. Brace for these pastoral scenes erupting with smears of toxic-looking goo, rusting nails, or cracked enamel. The effect is both jarring and yet sublime; it's hard not to admire the artistry even in what's meant to be the ugliest pages.

A few references chafe: Walker mentions War seeing oil and gas in the earth, though in the entire history of human conflict, only a tiny number involved those commodities. She pulls it all off in the end, however, by admonishing the reader about War's contagious effects on us all.

Is this the best way to teach kids about war? I have no idea. My friends and I are all agreed that we'd like to put off teaching our children about the Holocaust for as long as possible, and there are no mentions of Iraq at our dinner table, nor even much about Israel and Palestine.

What you decide to teach a young child about war is, of course, entirely up to you. Walker and Vitale are merely giving you one approach, which, if it doesn't prompt nightmares, should at least inspire numerous questions.

Rating: *\*\*\

Moses: When Harriet Tubman Led Her People to Freedom
by Carole Boston Weatherford; illustrated by Kadir Nelson

Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world. –Harriet Tubman

Moses is a fictional story based on the spiritual journey of Harriet Tubman, a slave in 19th-century America who possessed the courage not only to escape the brutal life of a Maryland plantation and run away to free soil in Philadelphia, but also the compassion to make the dangerous journey south over and over again to bring her family and hundreds of others to freedom. She became known as the Moses of her people, never once getting caught or losing a passenger.

Weatherford’s powerful text employs a poetic interplay of three voices—the narrator’s, Harriet’s and God’s—to evoke the call-and-response tradition of the black church as Harriet calls upon her deep faith to sustain her on her first treacherous journey north.

Harriet’s feet bleed and her gut churns.
Under the stars, she draws near to God.

Lord, don’t let nobody turn me ‘round;
I’d rather die than be a slave.

HARRIET, KEEP GOING. YOU HAVE ALREADY GLIMPSED THE FUTURE.

The dramatic, unromanticized story is coupled with breathtakingly intense oil-and-watercolor paintings that earned Nelson a 2007 Caldecott Honor Book award and a 2007 Coretta Scott King Illustrator Book Award.

A foreword provides a brief explanation of slavery and an author’s note gives a short biography of Tubman's life.

Whether readers choose this book for the history, spirituality or emotionally charged illustrations--or all three--it's a compelling introduction to an extraordinary woman whose story deserves to be retold for generations to come, not only for the remarkable feats she accomplished but also for the sense of potential her courageous acts can encourage in the rest of us.

Rating: *\*\*\*\

The Story of Salt
by Mark Kurlansky; illustrated by S.D. Schindler

Reviewed by Deb Clark

Adapted for children from Mark Kurlansky’s adult bestseller Salt: A World History, this book recounts the weighty historic significance and scientific aspects of this most-important seasoning, making it a pretty involved topic for kids.

Both the adult and children’s version of this story have racked up rave reviews thanks to Kurlansky’s writing prowess and salt’s interesting history.

Did you know that early salt excavations in 200 B.C. China would occasionally lead to massive and deadly explosions? That without salt, there would be no ancient Egyptian mummies? That Roman Emperor Augustus gave out free salt to win public support for a war (W wishes he had it so easy)? That the high taxes on salt levied by France’s King Louis XIV lead to a prosperous salt-smuggling trade? That salt was an early and integral part of Gandhi’s campaign for Indian independence?

Energetically detailed watercolor-and-ink illustrations, maps and charts accompany the immense amount of information.

It’s interesting stuff, full of fascinating characters and amazing tales. But the main character is a mineral, and history happens around it. A rock with a great backstory is still just a rock, which makes this book, like its subject, a matter of individual taste.

Rating: *\*\

Buy it from Powells.

Gregor Mendel: The Friar Who Grew Peas
by Cheryl Bardoe; illustrations by Jos. A. Smith

Reviewed by Deb Clark

History does not have to be boring. This book is proof. Gregor Mendel’s life, including his groundbreaking scientific discovery of the theory of heredity, is rendered thoroughly understandable and interesting. Somebody go tell my high-school social studies teacher.

Commissioned by Chicago’s Field Museum of Natural History to accompany an exhibit on Mendel that will wrap up at the end of this month, this book is the first by exhibition manager Cheryl Bardoe. Let’s hope she writes many more. This woman has a talent for telling a story.

The text is full of interesting details that humanize brilliant Mendel and pull the reader into his tale. We learn of young Gregor’s ironclad determination to learn, his willingness to forego half his meals to pay for his education, his decision to become a friar so he could continue his studies. Later, we’re told how the value of Mendel’s revolutionary findings was completely overlooked during his lifetime, and how the experience soured him on future scientific exploration.

The story really shines in its clear explanation of Mendel’s eight-year experiment planting peas that lead to his discovery of a fundamental aspect of genetic science: how traits are passed down through generations. Lovely and meticulous watercolor illustrations further enliven Mendel’s story and provide extra clarity to the scientific fine points.

I love to read this book to my children, but I also enjoy reading it myself.

Rating: *\*\*\*\

For a time, it looked like my first winter in Chicago would be a mild one. Hah! It's snowing as I write this, a hasty, wind-battered affair with little accumulation but a mean punch. So I went a-hunting for snow poems and found this one in a collection of poems from--what a coincidence--a Chicagoan, Gwendolyn Brooks.

Guess folks around here know a thing or two about the flaky stuff, huh?

Cynthia in the Snow

It SUSHES.
It hushes
The loudness in the road.
It flitter-twitters,
And laughs away from me.
It laughs a lovely whiteness,
And whitely whirs away,
To be,
Some otherwhere,
Still white as milk or shirts.
So beautiful it hurts.

Almost Gone
by Steve Jenkins

In with the obligatory segments on California missions and multiplication tables, my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Guthrie, devoted a chunk of time to studying endangered animals. I was dumbfounded to learn an animal could vanish from the planet as a direct result of human action. I admit I shed a few tears for the dodo.

And I vowed to become a park ranger and live in one of those shacks up on super-high stilts in the middle of the wilderness, which might actually have been a good job choice for me if I weren’t absolutely petrified of heights.

Almost Gone is a book my fourth-grade self would have cherished. A series of endangered animals are introduced by a paragraph of information that includes where the creature can be found and how many remain. It’s sad to note that the Abington Island tortoise of the Galapagos Islands, with only one left, will likely soon qualify for the section titled Gone Forever.

The book ends on a high note, listing three animals whose numbers are stepping back from the brink of extinction. And there is an excellent introduction that clearly explains what effect the loss of even one small creature can have on our ecosystem.

The brief entries on each animal are packed with interesting information, but it’s the illustrations that are truly fascinating. Hand-painted, cut-paper collage images of each beast are so scrupulously detailed that I half expect them to move. They captivate my children, who study them with an intensity that leads to all sorts of questions about the animals and their situations.

I’ve already decided that if either of my daughters someday works in one of those wilderness lookout shacks, I’ll just have to climb the darn ladder to see them.

Rating: *\*\*\

Josephine Nobisso’s Show; Don’t Tell: Secrets of Writing
illustrated by Eva Montanari

Any veteran of creative writing workshops or critique groups has heard this lament: too much telling! Not enough showing!

Descriptive writing’s tough even for an adult struggling to commit thoughts, observations, memories or imaginings to paper. How can a child be expected to master a skill that eludes so many grownups?

Nobisso does a better job than I would’ve expected with a topic that aims so broadly over their heads. Gingerbread House has sent me several of her picture books, nearly all of them bedecked in shiny stickers for the numerous awards she’s won. This one bore a record six.

But it's the surreal illustrations, acrylics done in graphic novel format, that are key to making sense of Nobisso’s patient, meticulous advice for dispensing with vague words like “nice” or “weird” in favor of greater precision. A lion, duck, penguin and other critters hover around the narration, taking wild stabs at the instructions, chiding each other, and somehow muddling through the literary dreamscape. Each critter’s speech even gets its own font, among the many visual clues that carry us through the more abstract patches.

The activities--including a sound chip and nylon mesh for kids to describe--may take repeated reads to slowly drive the lesson home. Hey, if good writing were easy, maybe we’d all be published.

There are no fancy tricks, Nobisso insists in her forward, just an old-fashioned insistence on picking the right nouns and adjectives. Yep, grammar’s the key to great writing. That may not sound magical, but it's vital to learn that there are no shortcuts.

Rating: *\*\*\