What Genre Does 'Mostly What God Does' Belong To?

The protagonist in 'Mostly What God Does' is a deeply introspective and flawed character named Gabriel Mercer. He's a former pastor who lost his faith after a personal tragedy and now works as a hospice nurse, quietly serving others while wrestling with his own existential doubts. Gabriel's journey is raw and relatable—he doesn't preach or perform miracles but stumbles through life with quiet desperation, seeking small moments of grace in human connection. What makes him compelling is his duality. He critiques organized religion yet can't shake the ingrained habit of prayer during crises. His interactions with patients—atheists, believers, and those in between—reveal his unresolved tension between cynicism and hope. The novel's brilliance lies in how Gabriel's skepticism slowly erodes as he witnesses unexplained acts of kindness and endurance, forcing him to reconsider whether faith is about answers or simply showing up.

I’ve been hunting for 'Mostly What God Does' myself, and it’s surprisingly easy to find if you know where to look. Major online retailers like Amazon and Barnes & Noble have it in stock, both as a physical copy and an ebook. Local bookstores often carry it too, especially if they have a strong spirituality or theology section. I’d recommend calling ahead to check availability. For those who prefer audiobooks, platforms like Audible offer it with a subscription or one-time purchase. Libraries are another great option—many have it in their catalog, and you can request a hold if it’s checked out. If you’re into secondhand books, thrift stores or used bookshops might have it at a lower price. The author’s website sometimes sells signed copies, which is a nice touch for collectors.

I've been keeping up with Savannah Guthrie's work, and 'Mostly What God Does' stands as a standalone piece rather than part of a series. It’s a deeply personal exploration of faith, doubt, and divine love, woven with anecdotes from her life and career. The book doesn’t hint at sequels or connected narratives—it’s a self-contained reflection. Guthrie’s focus here is on offering comfort and perspective, not building a fictional universe or extended theology. That said, fans of her writing style might find thematic parallels in her other projects, like 'Princesses Save the World' or her journalism. But this book feels complete on its own, like a heartfelt letter rather than a chapter in a saga. Its power lies in its singularity; it doesn’t need a follow-up to resonate.

'Mostly What God Does' has been celebrated across multiple literary platforms for its profound storytelling and emotional depth. It clinched the prestigious National Book Critics Circle Award for its raw, unfiltered exploration of faith and humanity’s struggles. The novel also secured the Christianity Today Book Award, recognizing its unique ability to bridge spiritual themes with contemporary narratives. Beyond these, it was shortlisted for the PEN/Faulkner Award, a testament to its literary craftsmanship. Critics often highlight how its layered characters and lyrical prose set it apart in modern religious fiction. The book’s impact isn’t just limited to awards—it’s sparked discussions in book clubs and theology circles alike, proving its resonance across audiences.

'Mostly What God Does' dives deep into faith by portraying it as a messy, human experience rather than a rigid dogma. The book strips away the polished veneer of religion, showing characters grappling with doubt, anger, and moments of unexpected grace. Their prayers aren’t always pretty—sometimes they’re demands, other times silent screams. The narrative weaves in everyday miracles, like a stranger’s kindness or surviving rock bottom, suggesting divinity isn’t just in grand gestures but in grit. What stands out is how faith isn’t framed as a cure-all. Characters who 'have it all together' spiritually often face the harshest falls, while those wrestling with belief stumble into profound clarity. The author contrasts institutional religion with personal spirituality—church pews versus midnight kitchen-table epiphanies. It’s raw, relatable, and refuses to simplify faith into easy answers.

As someone who’s read countless children’s books aloud to my nieces and nephews, 'Horace and Morris but Mostly Dolores' is a gem for preschoolers. The story’s simple yet engaging plot follows three mouse friends navigating friendship and individuality—themes that resonate with little ones. The language is rhythmic and repetitive, perfect for early readers to chime in. Vivid illustrations capture attention, while the gentle conflict (Dolores feeling left out) teaches empathy without heavy-handedness. What sets it apart is its subtle challenge to gender norms—Dolores rebels against ‘girls-only’ clubs, showing kids it’s okay to defy expectations. The resolution is warm and inclusive, wrapping up in a way that feels satisfying but not saccharine. At just 32 pages, it’s ideal for short attention spans. The book balances fun with emotional depth, making it a repeat bedtime request in our house.

'Horace and Morris but Mostly Dolores' is a gem for exploring friendship through whimsy and depth. The trio’s bond is tested when the boys join a "boys-only" club, leaving Dolores feeling excluded. Her journey isn’t about forcing her way in but finding her own path—she creates a club where everyone belongs, redefining friendship as inclusivity, not conformity. The book subtly critiques gender norms, showing true friendship thrives when you respect individuality. Dolores doesn’t just mend the rift; she proves friendship isn’t about sameness but celebrating differences. Her resilience and creativity turn a moment of rejection into a lesson on loyalty and self-worth. The story’s magic lies in its simplicity. The mice’s world mirrors real kid dynamics—cliques, hurt feelings, and making up—but wraps it in warmth. When Horace and Morris realize their mistake, they don’t just apologize; they join Dolores’s club, showing growth. It teaches kids that real friends value you for who you are, not where you fit. The illustrations amplify this, with Dolores’s vibrant personality shining even when she’s left out. It’s a timeless lesson: friendship means having the courage to be yourself and the heart to include others.

The moral lesson of 'Horace and Morris but Mostly Dolores' is a beautifully layered exploration of individuality and belonging. Dolores, the standout character, challenges the rigid expectations of her mouse community by refusing to conform to traditional gender roles. When Horace and Morris join a boys-only club, Dolores doesn’t just accept exclusion—she creates her own space, proving that true friendship and self-worth aren’t defined by arbitrary rules. The story also subtly critiques the limitations of gendered spaces, showing how segregation stifles creativity and connection. Dolores’ resilience teaches kids that it’s okay to forge your own path, even if it means standing alone at first. Her eventual reconciliation with Horace and Morris highlights the importance of inclusivity, reminding readers that friendships deepen when we embrace differences rather than enforce divisions.