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If certain writers have an golden period, during which they reach the summit repeatedly, then American writer John Irving’s lasted through a sequence of four substantial, gratifying books, from his late-seventies hit The World According to Garp to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. Those were rich, witty, warm novels, connecting characters he describes as “misfits” to social issues from gender equality to termination.

After Owen Meany, it’s been waning results, save in size. His previous work, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages in length of subjects Irving had examined more skillfully in prior books (inability to speak, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a 200-page film script in the heart to extend it – as if filler were necessary.

Therefore we come to a latest Irving with caution but still a tiny spark of hope, which glows stronger when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages – “returns to the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 work is among Irving’s top-tier novels, set largely in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Larch and his apprentice Wells.

This novel is a disappointment from a novelist who in the past gave such delight

In His Cider House Novel, Irving explored pregnancy termination and belonging with richness, humor and an all-encompassing understanding. And it was a important book because it moved past the subjects that were turning into repetitive patterns in his novels: grappling, wild bears, Austrian capital, sex work.

Queen Esther begins in the made-up town of Penacook, New Hampshire in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple adopt teenage foundling the protagonist from St Cloud's home. We are a few decades prior to the action of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch remains familiar: already dependent on ether, beloved by his staff, starting every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his appearance in this novel is limited to these early scenes.

The couple fret about raising Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “in what way could they help a adolescent girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To address that, we move forward to Esther’s adulthood in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish exodus to the region, where she will enter Haganah, the pro-Zionist armed group whose “mission was to safeguard Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would eventually establish the basis of the Israel's military.

Those are massive topics to tackle, but having brought in them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not really about the orphanage and the doctor, it’s still more disheartening that it’s additionally not focused on the main character. For motivations that must involve story mechanics, Esther turns into a substitute parent for a different of the family's children, and delivers to a baby boy, James, in the early forties – and the majority of this story is his story.

And now is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both typical and specific. Jimmy goes to – where else? – Vienna; there’s discussion of evading the military conscription through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a dog with a significant name (Hard Rain, recall the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as the sport, streetwalkers, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s recurring).

The character is a less interesting figure than the female lead hinted to be, and the secondary figures, such as pupils the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are flat as well. There are some amusing episodes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a confrontation where a few thugs get assaulted with a support and a air pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate author, but that is isn't the problem. He has repeatedly restated his points, telegraphed plot developments and let them to accumulate in the viewer's thoughts before bringing them to completion in long, shocking, funny moments. For case, in Irving’s novels, physical elements tend to be lost: recall the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those absences reverberate through the plot. In the book, a major person suffers the loss of an limb – but we only find out 30 pages before the end.

The protagonist comes back toward the end in the book, but merely with a final sense of wrapping things up. We never do find out the full narrative of her time in the region. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a writer who once gave such delight. That’s the negative aspect. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – I reread it in parallel to this novel – still remains excellently, 40 years on. So pick up the earlier work instead: it’s twice as long as this book, but a dozen times as good.