"I'm thinking how nothing is as simple as you guess":Narration in Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's Shiloh Leona W. Fisher (bio) "I liked this book—and I usually hate dog stories! I don't even like dogs!" complained several of my students in a recent college class. "Well," I proposed, "why don't we try to find out why? What are the book's special, even unique, characteristics that enable such a positive response, even from twenty-year-old skeptics like yourselves?" This analysis grows out of that attempt, which has taken me in various narratological directions. The more I explored the book's persuasiveness, alone and with my students, the more I concluded that this book stands virtually alone in its bravery: culturally (although written by a suburbanite, it is set in the West Virginia hills), ideologically (it sets up virtually insoluble ethical dilemmas, which it refuses to solve easily, and certainly not in a formulaic way), linguistically (like many contemporary African-American books for children, it incorporates dialect not only into its dialogue but into its narrative and provides no grammatical correctives) and, most important, narratologically. The story is experienced, told, "filtered," and analyzed by eleven-year-old Marty Preston—without benefit of authorial intervention, or even the interaction of an addressee.1 With no overt or extended narrative frame (such as, "Now I will tell you a story," "Once upon a time," or "Last year") and very little subsequent spatial or temporal "double consciousness" for the reader's benefit, Marty simply launches into his story by specifying a concrete day and event: "The day Shiloh come" (11).2 For those of you not familiar with this extraordinary tale, Shiloh is a dog, and his "coming" changes Marty's—and the other Prestons'—life forever. The terrified beagle has been beaten and abused by his owner, Judd Travers, and he finds refuge in the protective, loving arms of the smitten Marty, who learns to lie and scheme and rationalize (and even to subvert his community's value systems) in the process of discovering a plan to keep the dog. In the process, Marty offers many pre-adolescent observations for the first time, not the least of which is this: "You once get a dog to look at you the way Shiloh looked at me, you don't forget it" (32)—an insight many readers seem to have difficulty forgetting as well. But what produces this effect so unequivocally and particularly in a story that might easily fall into the clichés of the "boy and his dog" convention? How does the author avoid the obvious pitfalls of sentimentality, condescension, "cuteness," or even anthropomorphism that have characterized so many animal tales for middle readers? The answer, I believe, is simple: through the outrageous and brilliant use of a technique seldom used in fiction for any age group: the sustained internal monologue presented almost exclusively in the present tense.3 The selection of the angle-of-vision from which a story is told may be the clue to the effectiveness of children's "classic" stories from Alice in Wonderland through Tom Sawyer, the Little House books, Charlotte's Web, to the Great Brain books, The Chocolate War, Harriet the Spy, and Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. Whether, as in Barbara Wall's formulation, these books are told in the "Single Address" (addressed to the child alone) or "Double Address" (addressed alternately to the child and the adult) of the nineteenth or early twentieth centuries, or in the supposedly more sophisticated "Dual Address" (addressed to the child and the adult simultaneously) of the last one hundred years, each of them presents an appropriate point of view and voice which establish a desired rhetorical relationship and intimacy—with many readers across time and space. No "classic" text, however, has attempted a plausible retelling of a story from the perspective of the very moment in which it is happening.4 The conventions of written narrative tell us, after all, that the past tense is the present (with "had," the past perfect, to signify the actual past, and "would" as the predictive future, bringing the story up to the time of the...
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