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If a few writers experience an imperial period, in which they reach the heights time after time, then U.S. author John Irving’s lasted through a run of four fat, gratifying novels, from his 1978 success The World According to Garp to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. Those were generous, humorous, compassionate books, linking figures he calls “misfits” to cultural themes from gender equality to termination.

Since Owen Meany, it’s been waning results, aside from in word count. His previous novel, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages in length of topics Irving had explored more effectively in earlier works (inability to speak, short stature, transgenderism), with a 200-page film script in the middle to fill it out – as if padding were required.

Thus we look at a recent Irving with reservation but still a faint flame of optimism, which burns brighter when we learn that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages – “goes back to the world of The Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties book is among Irving’s very best novels, taking place primarily in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, managed by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer.

The book is a failure from a novelist who in the past gave such delight

In His Cider House Novel, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and identity with vibrancy, humor and an total understanding. And it was a significant work because it left behind the themes that were turning into tiresome habits in his books: grappling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, prostitution.

Queen Esther begins in the imaginary community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the twentieth century's dawn, where the Winslow couple welcome young ward the protagonist from St Cloud's home. We are a few decades before the storyline of Cider House, yet Wilbur Larch remains familiar: already using the drug, adored by his caregivers, starting every talk with “In this place...” But his role in the book is restricted to these initial parts.

The couple are concerned about parenting Esther properly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how could they help a adolescent girl of Jewish descent discover her identity?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish migration to the area, where she will become part of the Haganah, the Zionist militant organisation whose “mission was to safeguard Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would later become the basis of the IDF.

These are massive subjects to tackle, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not actually about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more disheartening that it’s also not really concerning the main character. For causes that must involve story mechanics, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for one more of the couple's daughters, and bears to a male child, the boy, in the early forties – and the majority of this book is his story.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both common and particular. Jimmy goes to – where else? – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of evading the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a dog with a meaningful designation (the animal, meet the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, writers and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a duller character than Esther suggested to be, and the minor characters, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are flat as well. There are several amusing scenes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a fight where a few ruffians get beaten with a crutch and a air pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not ever been a subtle writer, but that is isn't the issue. He has always restated his arguments, hinted at plot developments and allowed them to gather in the viewer's thoughts before bringing them to fruition in lengthy, surprising, amusing scenes. For instance, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to be lost: remember the oral part in The Garp Novel, the finger in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces echo through the narrative. In this novel, a major character loses an upper extremity – but we just find out 30 pages before the finish.

Esther comes back late in the story, but only with a last-minute sense of wrapping things up. We never do find out the complete account of her life in the region. This novel is a disappointment from a writer who once gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that Cider House – upon rereading together with this novel – still stands up excellently, four decades later. So pick up it instead: it’s double the length as Queen Esther, but far as enjoyable.