“The Lions’ Run” tenderly portrays a child finding his courage in Nazi-occupied France

In The Lions' Run, Sara Pennypacker has crafted a surprising, beautiful, and deeply moving World War II story. Lucas DuBois, called "Petit éclair" (little lightning) by fellow orphans, longs to prove his bravery during Nazi occupation. After rescuing a litter of kittens leads him to Alice, who's hiding a horse, Lucas discovers a network of village resistance fighters. Inspired by these unlikely heroes, he must decide how much he'll risk for the most dangerous rescue of all. As with Pax and her other books, this is essential listening for classrooms and beyond. It's historically accurate and age-appropriate, but doesn't shy away from the moral complexities of wartime choices.

Tricia Ford: What drew you to the Lebensborn program? Most WWII novels focus on concentration camps or resistance movements, but these Nazi maternity homes are much less familiar. How did you research this sensitive topic for young readers?

Sara Pennypacker: Initially, I was surprised that such a widespread program (besides Germany, it operated in eight occupied countries), which affected so many, remained so little-known. Even today, few have heard of the Lebensborn Program, based on Nazi eugenics policy. The more I learned, the more appalled I became: These were crimes against women and children, committed as strategies of war. I felt we should be talking about this.

It was not easy to research. On the one hand, most WWII accounts do mention the Lebensborns, but only as maternity homes set up to “help” women and girls pregnant by occupying soldiers, ignoring the dire consequences of separating babies from their mothers and sending them to “good Nazi homes” in Germany. Most of those children never learned of their true parentage or heritage; the ones still in the nurseries as the war ended were often abandoned or mistreated. At the same time, since the whole program was highly secretive, information was scarce. Very few ever knew how it functioned; observers were barred; records were deliberately obscured or destroyed. And some accounts sensationalized the program’s purpose, hinting that the homes were breeding farms, which was not true. Luckily, the homes were all planned and run systematically, so I knew that whatever I could verify about one home most likely applied to all the others.

The nickname “Petit Éclair” perfectly captures Lucas’s vulnerability and inner spark. How did you develop him to show that gentleness can be courage? What made you choose empathy over traditional bravery as your story’s driving force?

In kid’s media, courage is too often presented with bulging muscles and armed with weapons; justice is too often accomplished through explosions and mayhem. I’ve learned from many years of talking to kids about their lives and the impact of stories, that they really want to act when they recognize injustice. They wonder, though, what they can do and if they are courageous enough. I want to reassure them that small acts count and that true bravery begins with empathy, with caring enough about someone, or something, else enough that you act in spite of fear. Éclair in French also means "bolt of lightning" (the pastry got its name because it is eaten "in a flash") and I think that’s appropriate, too, in that Lucas acts impulsively, quickly, when his bravery is needed.

Lucas moves from saving kittens to protecting humans—was this escalating rescue pattern intentional?

Yes, definitely. And in between, he and a friend are saving a horse! But while the protection of the human is positioned as the book’s climax, I think there’s an even higher point reached several pages later. The most satisfying act, for me anyway, is when in standing up for a young urchin on a dock, he defends himself against prejudice he’s endured. To stand up for yourself takes courage, too.