I happened to be subbing for a 5th grade class that was reading this book, and I decided to see what it was about. I'm not a huge fan of boy-and-his-dog stories, but I can appreciate them for the way they do speak to young boys. However, Shiloh would not be one I would recommend.
I know . . . It's a Newberry Winner! It's got talk of Jesus in it! It's about wrestling with moral issues! It's about doggie love!
First, Newberry awards are sometimes more of a warning signal than a badge of honor, sadly. While the winners may be well-written, they also often are subtle (or not-so-subtle) vehicles for popular agendas. They are rarely timeless classics, although that shiny gold seal automatically launches them into that category.
I can only imagine that those looking for Christian-friendly children's books have embraced this one, but in truth its the religious aspects are terribly shallow. A moralistic episode between the main character and his mother (along the lines of "I can't make you confess, but remember that Jesus knows if you lied and it makes Him sad.") sharpens his conscience to the immorality of lying, but other evidence of Christianity in the family life is scant. They don't appear to pray together, read the Bible, even go to church. Other references to Jesus include the boy, Marty, using "Jesus strike me blind" to strengthen a promise and narrating to us that, though his mother doesn't like that kind of talk, his grandmother always used it.
Moreover, the ethical wrestling in Shiloh is carefully planned so that there is really no contest at all. Obviously, the central question is whether it is okay to lie in order to protect someone helpless (the dog, in this case). This tension comes up again and again in Marty's narrative. He thinks it to himself and asks his parents about it and sees some of the consequences of his lying, and yet . . . And yet there is never any real question. The deck is stacked in such a way that we have to agree that of course he must lie under these circumstances. Any possible third options are effectively squashed: He can't earn the money fast enough to buy the dog. He can't trust the authorities to protect the dog. He can't reason with the abusive owner of the dog. And so on and on.
Meanwhile, rather than making Marty actually struggle and decide to suffer the consequences for his actions, the story resolves itself through two deus ex machina (or rather canis ex machina and cervus ex machina) events. His lies bring a little temporary discomfort, but no real, difficult consequences, and he ends up getting everything his way anyway. Thus, for all its seeming high regard for morality, this story becomes merely a crafty lesson in situational ethics.
And in great part, it is effective in teaching this lesson because of the perfect puppy at its center. Shiloh has no flaws. He is obedient, restrained, affectionate, long-suffering. Who could help loving such a dog? Not only Marty but also his more sensible parents cannot help themselves and will break their own principles for the sake of the little beagle at the heart of it all. For the slightly discerning reader, it is an almost insufferable appeal to pathos. For the elementary school child reading such a book, its emotional appeal will almost certainly work its magic to override any compunctions.
In the end, Shiloh, for all its surface morality, has almost nothing to contribute to building a child's character. There are better boy-and-his-dog stories to offer children. Give them something like Where the Red Fern Grows if you want them to think about themes of integrity, hard work, and the joy and pain that come along with love.