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If certain novelists have an golden era, in which they achieve the summit consistently, then American novelist John Irving’s lasted through a run of several substantial, rewarding works, from his 1978 breakthrough His Garp Novel to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. Those were expansive, humorous, big-hearted books, tying characters he refers to as “misfits” to cultural themes from feminism to termination.

Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been diminishing outcomes, save in word count. His previous work, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages in length of themes Irving had delved into more effectively in earlier books (selective mutism, restricted growth, trans issues), with a lengthy script in the center to fill it out – as if extra material were necessary.

Therefore we approach a recent Irving with care but still a faint glimmer of hope, which glows brighter when we learn that Queen Esther – a only four hundred thirty-two pages – “revisits the world of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s finest works, taking place largely in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer.

The book is a letdown from a writer who in the past gave such delight

In His Cider House Novel, Irving explored pregnancy termination and belonging with colour, wit and an total understanding. And it was a important book because it left behind the themes that were turning into tiresome patterns in his works: wrestling, bears, the city of Vienna, prostitution.

The novel begins in the fictional community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome 14-year-old ward the protagonist from St Cloud's home. We are a several years ahead of the events of His Earlier Novel, yet Wilbur Larch remains identifiable: already using anesthetic, beloved by his nurses, starting every address with “In this place...” But his role in the book is limited to these early sections.

The couple are concerned about raising Esther correctly: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a adolescent girl of Jewish descent discover her identity?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to the area, where she will enter Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant force whose “goal was to protect Jewish towns from hostile actions” and which would subsequently become the core of the IDF.

Such are massive subjects to address, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not actually about the orphanage and Wilbur Larch, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s additionally not about the titular figure. For reasons that must relate to plot engineering, Esther becomes a gestational carrier for a different of the Winslows’ offspring, and gives birth to a son, Jimmy, in World War II era – and the bulk of this novel is Jimmy’s tale.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both typical and specific. Jimmy moves to – of course – the city; there’s mention of evading the military conscription through self-harm (Owen Meany); a dog with a symbolic name (Hard Rain, meet the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as grappling, streetwalkers, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s recurring).

The character is a less interesting persona than the heroine suggested to be, and the secondary characters, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are one-dimensional also. There are several nice scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a few bullies get beaten with a walking aid and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has never been a nuanced novelist, but that is isn't the problem. He has always reiterated his points, foreshadowed narrative turns and let them to gather in the reader’s thoughts before taking them to fruition in lengthy, jarring, funny scenes. For instance, in Irving’s books, body parts tend to go missing: recall the tongue in The Garp Novel, the finger in Owen Meany. Those absences resonate through the story. In Queen Esther, a key character loses an upper extremity – but we merely learn thirty pages the finish.

The protagonist reappears late in the story, but merely with a last-minute sense of ending the story. We not once discover the full account of her life in the Middle East. The book is a disappointment from a writer who previously gave such pleasure. That’s the negative aspect. The good news is that Cider House – upon rereading in parallel to this book – yet remains excellently, four decades later. So choose it as an alternative: it’s double the length as the new novel, but a dozen times as good.