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If certain writers experience an peak era, where they hit the pinnacle time after time, then U.S. novelist John Irving’s lasted through a run of several fat, gratifying works, from his late-seventies success Garp to 1989’s Owen Meany. These were expansive, funny, big-hearted works, connecting figures he calls “outsiders” to societal topics from women's rights to abortion.

After A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been waning returns, save in size. His last novel, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages of themes Irving had delved into better in previous novels (mutism, restricted growth, gender identity), with a lengthy script in the heart to pad it out – as if filler were required.

Therefore we look at a new Irving with reservation but still a tiny glimmer of expectation, which burns hotter when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a mere 432 pages in length – “revisits the world of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is one of Irving’s top-tier works, set primarily in an institution in Maine's St Cloud’s, run by Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer.

Queen Esther is a letdown from a writer who in the past gave such delight

In The Cider House Rules, Irving explored termination and belonging with richness, comedy and an all-encompassing understanding. And it was a major book because it abandoned the subjects that were evolving into repetitive patterns in his novels: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, Austrian capital, the oldest profession.

The novel begins in the imaginary village of the Penacook area in the twentieth century's dawn, where Thomas and Constance Winslow welcome 14-year-old orphan the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a a number of years ahead of the events of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch remains recognisable: even then using anesthetic, beloved by his staff, opening every speech with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his role in Queen Esther is restricted to these opening scenes.

The Winslows worry about bringing up Esther well: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how could they help a young Jewish female understand her place?” To answer that, we jump ahead to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be part of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will join the paramilitary group, the Jewish nationalist armed force whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would subsequently establish the basis of the Israel's military.

These are massive subjects to take on, but having brought in them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is not really about the orphanage and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more disappointing that it’s additionally not really concerning Esther. For motivations that must connect to plot engineering, Esther ends up as a gestational carrier for one more of the couple's children, and bears to a baby boy, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this book is his narrative.

And at this point is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both regular and distinct. Jimmy moves to – of course – Vienna; there’s mention of evading the draft notice through self-mutilation (His Earlier Book); a canine with a meaningful designation (Hard Rain, remember Sorrow from His Hotel Novel); as well as grappling, sex workers, writers and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a less interesting figure than the heroine promised to be, and the minor players, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are one-dimensional as well. There are some nice scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a few bullies get assaulted with a crutch and a bicycle pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not once been a subtle author, but that is not the problem. He has consistently repeated his ideas, foreshadowed story twists and allowed them to build up in the reader’s imagination before bringing them to completion in lengthy, surprising, funny moments. For case, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to be lost: recall the tongue in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces echo through the plot. In Queen Esther, a key character loses an limb – but we merely learn 30 pages before the end.

The protagonist returns in the final part in the novel, but just with a final impression of wrapping things up. We do not discover the complete narrative of her experiences in the region. This novel is a failure from a author who once gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The positive note is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading alongside this work – even now stands up excellently, four decades later. So pick up the earlier work as an alternative: it’s double the length as this book, but far as great.