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If a few authors experience an peak phase, in which they achieve the summit repeatedly, then U.S. author John Irving’s ran through a series of several fat, rewarding books, from his 1978 hit His Garp Novel to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Those were rich, witty, compassionate novels, linking protagonists he calls “outsiders” to cultural themes from women's rights to abortion.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning returns, except in size. His last novel, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages long of topics Irving had delved into better in previous works (mutism, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a lengthy film script in the middle to extend it – as if padding were needed.

Thus we look at a new Irving with caution but still a tiny spark of hope, which shines stronger when we discover that Queen Esther – a just 432 pages long – “revisits the setting of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is one of Irving’s top-tier books, located mostly in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Wells.

This novel is a disappointment from a writer who in the past gave such joy

In The Cider House Rules, Irving discussed termination and identity with richness, comedy and an total compassion. And it was a important book because it left behind the topics that were becoming tiresome habits in his books: the sport of wrestling, bears, Austrian capital, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther starts in the made-up town of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow take in young orphan the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a few years before the events of His Earlier Novel, yet the doctor remains familiar: already dependent on anesthetic, adored by his staff, starting every talk with “In this place...” But his role in the book is restricted to these opening sections.

The couple are concerned about bringing up Esther correctly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a young girl of Jewish descent discover her identity?” To answer that, we jump ahead to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish migration to the region, where she will enter the paramilitary group, the pro-Zionist armed force whose “purpose was to protect Jewish communities from opposition” and which would eventually form the basis of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Such are massive subjects to tackle, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that the novel is not really about the orphanage and the doctor, it’s still more disappointing that it’s also not really concerning the titular figure. For motivations that must relate to story mechanics, Esther ends up as a surrogate mother for another of the couple's children, and gives birth to a male child, the boy, in 1941 – and the majority of this novel is his narrative.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both typical and specific. Jimmy goes to – of course – the Austrian capital; there’s discussion of dodging the draft notice through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a canine with a significant designation (the animal, remember Sorrow from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, streetwalkers, writers and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a more mundane character than Esther suggested to be, and the minor characters, such as young people the two students, and Jimmy’s teacher Annelies Eissler, are flat too. There are several nice episodes – Jimmy deflowering; a brawl where a handful of bullies get battered with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a subtle author, but that is is not the difficulty. He has always reiterated his arguments, hinted at plot developments and enabled them to accumulate in the audience's mind before taking them to completion in extended, shocking, entertaining scenes. For instance, in Irving’s works, anatomical features tend to be lost: think of the oral part in Garp, the digit in His Owen Book. Those absences echo through the plot. In the book, a key character loses an limb – but we just discover thirty pages before the end.

The protagonist returns in the final part in the book, but just with a final feeling of wrapping things up. We never discover the complete story of her experiences in the Middle East. This novel is a failure from a novelist who previously gave such delight. That’s the negative aspect. The upside is that His Classic Novel – I reread it together with this book – even now holds up wonderfully, after forty years. So choose it in its place: it’s twice as long as this book, but 12 times as good.