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If certain writers have an golden phase, during which they hit the pinnacle repeatedly, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a run of four fat, gratifying works, from his 1978 hit Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were rich, humorous, warm works, connecting protagonists he refers to as “outsiders” to societal topics from gender equality to termination.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been diminishing returns, except in page length. His previous book, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages long of themes Irving had delved into more effectively in prior novels (inability to speak, short stature, transgenderism), with a 200-page screenplay in the middle to fill it out – as if padding were needed.

Therefore we approach a latest Irving with caution but still a tiny flame of hope, which glows hotter when we find out that Queen Esther – a just four hundred thirty-two pages long – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties work is among Irving’s finest books, set primarily in an orphanage in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer.

Queen Esther is a failure from a novelist who previously gave such pleasure

In Cider House, Irving wrote about abortion and identity with vibrancy, comedy and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a major work because it left behind the themes that were becoming repetitive tics in his books: wrestling, wild bears, Vienna, the oldest profession.

The novel opens in the imaginary village of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt young ward the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of generations before the storyline of His Earlier Novel, yet Wilbur Larch is still familiar: even then addicted to the drug, beloved by his nurses, starting every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his role in this novel is confined to these early sections.

The family worry about parenting Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish girl discover her identity?” To answer that, we flash forward to Esther’s adulthood in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will become part of the paramilitary group, the pro-Zionist armed group whose “purpose was to defend Jewish settlements from opposition” and which would subsequently become the core of the IDF.

Such are massive subjects to tackle, but having presented them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s regrettable that the novel is not really about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s even more disappointing that it’s likewise not focused on Esther. For causes that must relate to plot engineering, Esther becomes a surrogate mother for a different of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a baby boy, the boy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this novel is his tale.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both regular and particular. Jimmy goes to – of course – Vienna; there’s mention of dodging the draft notice through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a canine with a meaningful designation (the dog's name, recall Sorrow from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, prostitutes, novelists and genitalia (Irving’s recurring).

Jimmy is a duller character than the female lead hinted to be, and the minor players, such as students Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are one-dimensional too. There are a few amusing scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a fight where a couple of thugs get beaten with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has never been a nuanced novelist, but that is not the problem. He has repeatedly reiterated his arguments, hinted at narrative turns and let them to build up in the reader’s thoughts before taking them to fruition in extended, shocking, amusing moments. For example, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to go missing: recall the speech organ in The Garp Novel, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces resonate through the narrative. In this novel, a key person loses an limb – but we only discover 30 pages later the conclusion.

The protagonist returns in the final part in the novel, but just with a eleventh-hour feeling of concluding. We never do find out the full story of her life in the region. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a writer who previously gave such joy. That’s the downside. The upside is that Cider House – upon rereading alongside this work – still holds up excellently, four decades later. So read it instead: it’s much longer as Queen Esther, but 12 times as great.