NONFICTION : MY BOOK FOR KIDS WITH CANSUR by Jason Gaes (Melius & Peterson: $11.95; 32 pp., illustrated).

A book for children with cancer, written by an 8-year-old survivor is an oddity but a moving one.

A lump appeared on the young author’s jaw when he was 6. A visit to a dentist was followed by a visit to a doctor and a biopsy. The diagnosis was Burkitt’s lymphoma, a rare and rapidly growing malignancy.

Most adults are unaware that treatment of childhood cancer has improved dramatically since they were young. Many cancers that were essentially 100% fatal 25 years ago are now cured most of the time. However, treatment is complex, lengthy, and often painful. Jason’s tumor had spread widely, requiring a massive orchestration of chemotherapy, surgery, and radiotherapy that would tax the courage of an adult.

A jacket blurb describes the author as “wise beyond his years,” but that’s exactly what he isn’t. He’s just a child who has come through a terrible experience emotionally intact. With the naivete appropriate to a third-grader, he tells his story. Everything gets a rating. Radiotherapy is a snap. Surgery is not so easy, but mostly you’re asleep. Chemotherapy is bad. . . . Having cancer is definitely the pits, but there are compensations. You get cards and presents. You stay home from school. In the end, you’re cured and have a big party.

Too immature to be maudlin or to rail against his misfortune, he simply plunks one declarative sentence after another, misspellings and all (“IVs aren’t so bad. The nurses say done before you get to three. The spinals and bone mairos are bad no matter how far you count but they go faster if you curl up tight and try to relacks . . .”).

Adults will find the book marvelously touching. Children may recoil at its brutal directness, but a child with cancer will soon realize that Jason tells it like it is. The child will also learn that he or she will probably survive. As Jason himself complains, books on children with cancer usually end in death. This one doesn’t. It’s a unique source of hope in an area that still needs it.