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If certain novelists experience an peak phase, during which they reach the summit time after time, then American novelist John Irving’s extended through a sequence of several substantial, gratifying works, from his 1978 breakthrough His Garp Novel to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were expansive, witty, compassionate novels, linking characters he describes as “outsiders” to cultural themes from women's rights to abortion.

Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been waning results, save in page length. His last novel, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages of themes Irving had explored more effectively in earlier books (mutism, dwarfism, trans issues), with a two-hundred-page film script in the center to extend it – as if padding were necessary.

Therefore we look at a recent Irving with caution but still a tiny spark of optimism, which shines stronger when we discover that Queen Esther – a just four hundred thirty-two pages – “revisits the universe of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is part of Irving’s top-tier works, located primarily in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Dr Larch and his apprentice Wells.

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

In His Cider House Novel, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and identity with vibrancy, comedy and an total compassion. And it was a major work because it moved past the subjects that were evolving into annoying habits in his novels: wrestling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

The novel opens in the made-up community of the Penacook area in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple welcome 14-year-old orphan the title character from the orphanage. We are a few generations ahead of the storyline of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch stays recognisable: already dependent on the drug, respected by his nurses, starting every address with “At St Cloud's...” But his appearance in Queen Esther is restricted to these early scenes.

The Winslows are concerned about bringing up Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “in what way could they help a young Jewish female find herself?” To address that, we move forward to Esther’s adulthood in the twenties era. She will be part of the Jewish migration to the region, where she will enter Haganah, the pro-Zionist armed force whose “mission was to defend Jewish settlements from hostile actions” and which would later become the core of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are massive themes to address, but having brought in them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is hardly about the orphanage and the doctor, it’s even more disappointing that it’s likewise not focused on Esther. For causes that must connect to story mechanics, Esther becomes a surrogate mother for one more of the couple's daughters, and gives birth to a son, Jimmy, in the early forties – and the bulk of this novel is his narrative.

And here is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both regular and specific. Jimmy moves to – naturally – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of evading the draft notice through self-harm (His Earlier Book); a canine with a significant designation (Hard Rain, meet the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, writers and male anatomy (Irving’s passim).

The character is a duller persona than the heroine promised to be, and the supporting players, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are a few enjoyable scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a brawl where a few thugs get beaten with a support and a air pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not ever been a delicate novelist, but that is is not the difficulty. He has consistently reiterated his ideas, hinted at plot developments and allowed them to accumulate in the audience's mind before taking them to resolution in long, shocking, amusing sequences. For example, in Irving’s works, body parts tend to go missing: remember the oral part in Garp, the digit in His Owen Book. Those losses reverberate through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a key person loses an arm – but we only discover 30 pages before the finish.

The protagonist comes back late in the novel, but only with a final sense of concluding. We never learn the complete account of her time in the Middle East. This novel is a letdown from a novelist who previously gave such pleasure. That’s the negative aspect. The upside is that His Classic Novel – I reread it alongside this novel – even now holds up wonderfully, 40 years on. So read the earlier work in its place: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but 12 times as great.