rett Riley’s second novel, Lord of Order, grapples with the horrors enacted in the name of religion, but fails to pin down and explore those that blindly follow and carry out their atrocious orders in a meaningful or complex way. 

Set in a dystopian, ultra-protestant future, Gabriel Troy is the Bright Crusade’s current lord of order of New Orleans. Tasked with keeping his city safe from Troublers—the rogue group of unbelievers living beyond the outskirts of the city—and ensuring that everyone abides by the rules, Troy and his confidants find themselves at a crossroads when Jevan Dwyer, herald of President Matthew Rook, arrives to deliver a message stating that it is now God’s plan to turn New Orleans into a prison by blowing the levees and walling the remaining sinners inside. Realizing that this type of violence might not reflect the almighty’s true intent for humanity, Troy and the rest of the cast set out to save their city.  

Lord of Order is dense for a book that reads more like a bloated screenplay than a novel. Oftentimes describing every movement of a character like overwritten stage direction, such as when Troy and Dwyer meet for the first time: “Dwyer put out his hand. Troy shook it. The herald’s hand was bigger, the grip strong. Troy squeezed back. They released each other, and Dywer turned and shook hands with Hobbes, who grunted. The herald’s eyes narrowed a bit.” All of this is fine in theory, but when the majority of the book is hyper-focused on these details it neglects exploring more of the themes at play.  

Riley’s choice to throw quotations out the window when it comes to dialogue is also something the reader will either learn to get used to or they’ll drop the book after the first three chapters. It’s a stylistic quirk that can work when used to establish a rhythm, make the reader feel the same anxiety the characters experience, but feels mostly purposeless here and makes it difficult to discern who is and isn’t speaking, which in the long run makes every character feel the same. 

The book’s tone also lacks a balance between the gore, character drama and levity. Riley tends to favor the violence over all else and by the time we get to the great battle between the Troublers and the Crusade, Riley’s already exposed us to such gruesome horrors that the only feeling one can have at this point is exhaustion. Obviously, Riley wanted to drive home the brutality of war, but making this such a focus throughout nearly 450 pages lessens the impact of the finale. 

It’s unfortunate because a lot of the more interesting characters appear to do little more than service the plot, such as young Willa McClure and her dog who drift in and out of story to drop information and shoot it out when needed or the sisters that run the nunnery; the latter of which Troy theorizes have been providing aid to the Troublers when needed—even the people that have been forced to march from Washington to Louisiana to build their own death trap are relegated to being one-note prisoners who the rest of the cast look upon with what feels like forced pity.    

Part of the issue is the characters Riley does focus on come across as movie theater standees ready and willing to give up their allegiances at the first sign of trouble. There’s some regret peppered into their inner monologue, but they never feel like folks struggling with going against the only belief system they’ve ever known. The titular lord of order talks tough and busts some Troublers at the start of the book, but he’s so quick to switch sides by the time Jevan Dwyer arrives that the reader is left to wonder if Troy really had any of the faith needed to carry out his duties to start with. We get glimpses of his crisis of faith, but not nearly enough to make Troy a believable protagonist. 

There’s a great book here buried underneath all the tough guy dialogue and shoot ‘em up action, but as it stands Lord of Order is an experience more than an enjoyable, thoughtful read. It does and doesn’t want to wear its religious leanings on its sleeve and the overall questioning of faith itself feels so marginal that it keeps the book from being the profound exploration it wants to be.