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If a few novelists experience an peak period, during which they reach the pinnacle repeatedly, then American writer John Irving’s lasted through a series of several long, satisfying books, from his late-seventies hit Garp to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. Such were generous, witty, warm works, connecting characters he calls “misfits” to societal topics from feminism to termination.

Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been declining outcomes, aside from in size. His most recent work, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages long of topics Irving had explored more skillfully in earlier novels (inability to speak, dwarfism, gender identity), with a 200-page screenplay in the heart to pad it out – as if extra material were needed.

Thus we approach a latest Irving with caution but still a small glimmer of hope, which burns hotter when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a only four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “goes back to the universe of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 work is one of Irving’s top-tier works, set primarily in an children's home in Maine's St Cloud’s, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Wells.

This novel is a letdown from a novelist who once gave such pleasure

In Cider House, Irving explored pregnancy termination and acceptance with colour, comedy and an comprehensive understanding. And it was a significant novel because it moved past the topics that were becoming repetitive patterns in his works: the sport of wrestling, ursine creatures, Vienna, sex work.

This book begins in the imaginary town of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome young ward the title character from the orphanage. We are a a number of generations ahead of the action of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch remains identifiable: even then addicted to anesthetic, respected by his nurses, opening every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in this novel is restricted to these initial scenes.

The couple are concerned about bringing up Esther correctly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a young Jewish girl discover her identity?” To address that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the Roaring Twenties. She will be part of the Jewish exodus to Palestine, where she will become part of the Haganah, the Zionist militant organisation whose “goal was to defend Jewish towns from opposition” and which would eventually become the basis of the Israel's military.

These are massive subjects to take on, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is not really about St Cloud's and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more disappointing that it’s additionally not about the titular figure. For reasons that must involve narrative construction, Esther turns into a gestational carrier for one more of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a male child, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this story is the boy's tale.

And at this point is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both common and distinct. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – Vienna; there’s discussion of dodging the draft notice through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a meaningful title (the animal, recall the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, streetwalkers, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s recurring).

He is a less interesting figure than the heroine suggested to be, and the supporting figures, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are underdeveloped also. There are several amusing scenes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a confrontation where a handful of ruffians get battered with a crutch and a air pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate writer, but that is not the difficulty. He has repeatedly reiterated his ideas, telegraphed story twists and let them to accumulate in the reader’s thoughts before taking them to resolution in long, jarring, entertaining sequences. For case, in Irving’s works, physical elements tend to disappear: think of the tongue in The Garp Novel, the finger in His Owen Book. Those absences reverberate through the story. In the book, a key figure loses an upper extremity – but we just discover thirty pages before the conclusion.

The protagonist returns toward the end in the book, but merely with a final sense of wrapping things up. We do not discover the full narrative of her life in Palestine and Israel. The book is a disappointment from a author who previously gave such delight. That’s the bad news. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – revisiting it in parallel to this work – even now remains excellently, 40 years on. So read the earlier work as an alternative: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as great.