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If certain novelists have an peak era, during which they achieve the heights repeatedly, then U.S. writer John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four long, gratifying works, from his 1978 breakthrough His Garp Novel to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. Such were expansive, funny, big-hearted books, tying figures he refers to as “misfits” to societal topics from gender equality to termination.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining returns, except in page length. His previous work, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages of themes Irving had delved into better in earlier books (inability to speak, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a two-hundred-page film script in the middle to fill it out – as if padding were required.

Thus we look at a recent Irving with care but still a tiny flame of optimism, which burns brighter when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “revisits the world of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties book is among Irving’s top-tier works, taking place mostly in an orphanage in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his protege Wells.

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

In His Cider House Novel, Irving explored termination and acceptance with colour, humor and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a significant book because it abandoned the subjects that were turning into tiresome tics in his books: wrestling, ursine creatures, Austrian capital, prostitution.

Queen Esther begins in the imaginary village of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple adopt teenage foundling the title character from the orphanage. We are a few generations ahead of the action of The Cider House Rules, yet the doctor remains recognisable: still using the drug, beloved by his nurses, opening every speech with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his role in Queen Esther is restricted to these initial sections.

The family are concerned about bringing up Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how could they help a adolescent Jewish girl discover her identity?” To address that, we flash forward to Esther’s later life in the twenties era. She will be part of the Jewish emigration to Palestine, where she will enter the Haganah, the Zionist militant organisation whose “mission was to protect Jewish communities from opposition” and which would eventually form the core of the Israel's military.

These are massive subjects to address, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s regrettable that Queen Esther is not really about St Cloud’s and the doctor, it’s still more disheartening that it’s additionally not really concerning the titular figure. For reasons that must relate to story mechanics, Esther turns into a surrogate mother for one more of the Winslows’ daughters, and delivers to a son, Jimmy, in the early forties – and the bulk of this story is the boy's narrative.

And here is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both common and particular. Jimmy goes to – naturally – the city; there’s mention of evading the military conscription through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a canine with a meaningful name (the animal, remember the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, sex workers, writers and male anatomy (Irving’s recurring).

He is a duller persona than the heroine hinted to be, and the minor players, such as pupils the two students, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are a few enjoyable scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a few bullies get assaulted with a walking aid and a bicycle pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate writer, but that is is not the issue. He has repeatedly reiterated his ideas, telegraphed narrative turns and allowed them to build up in the audience's thoughts before leading them to completion in extended, shocking, entertaining scenes. For case, in Irving’s novels, anatomical features tend to disappear: recall the oral part in Garp, the digit in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the story. In this novel, a central character loses an upper extremity – but we merely discover 30 pages the end.

The protagonist comes back late in the novel, but merely with a final sense of concluding. We never learn the complete narrative of her experiences in the Middle East. This novel is a failure from a writer who in the past gave such delight. That’s the downside. The positive note is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading in parallel to this novel – even now stands up beautifully, 40 years on. So choose it instead: it’s twice as long as this book, but far as good.