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If a few novelists have an peak phase, where they hit the summit repeatedly, then U.S. author John Irving’s lasted through a sequence of several substantial, rewarding novels, from his 1978 hit His Garp Novel to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. These were generous, funny, warm books, linking figures he describes as “outsiders” to social issues from feminism to reproductive rights.

Following Owen Meany, it’s been declining results, save in page length. His most recent novel, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages of subjects Irving had delved into more effectively in previous novels (selective mutism, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a 200-page film script in the center to pad it out – as if extra material were necessary.

Therefore we look at a latest Irving with caution but still a faint spark of expectation, which glows brighter when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere 432 pages in length – “revisits the world of His Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties book is one of Irving’s very best books, located primarily in an children's home in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Wilbur Larch and his protege Wells.

Queen Esther is a disappointment from a writer who once gave such pleasure

In Cider House, Irving explored termination and belonging with vibrancy, wit and an comprehensive understanding. And it was a important work because it abandoned the themes that were turning into tiresome tics in his novels: the sport of wrestling, bears, Austrian capital, the oldest profession.

The novel opens in the fictional community of New Hampshire's Penacook in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome teenage foundling the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a few decades ahead of the action of The Cider House Rules, yet the doctor stays identifiable: even then dependent on ether, beloved by his staff, beginning every address with “In this place...” But his presence in Queen Esther is confined to these early scenes.

The Winslows are concerned about parenting Esther properly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how might they help a adolescent girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s adulthood in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will join the Haganah, the Zionist militant organisation whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would eventually become the basis of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are enormous topics to take on, but having presented them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s frustrating that the novel is hardly about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s all the more upsetting that it’s also not focused on the main character. For reasons that must involve plot engineering, Esther becomes a substitute parent for a different of the Winslows’ daughters, and delivers to a baby boy, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the majority of this novel is his story.

And now is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both regular and specific. Jimmy goes to – naturally – Vienna; there’s mention of evading the Vietnam draft through self-mutilation (His Earlier Book); a dog with a meaningful name (Hard Rain, remember the earlier dog from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

He is a less interesting character than the heroine promised to be, and the secondary players, such as students Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are flat too. There are some nice set pieces – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a couple of bullies get battered with a walking aid and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a subtle writer, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has repeatedly repeated his ideas, telegraphed story twists and allowed them to build up in the viewer's thoughts before leading them to resolution in long, jarring, funny moments. For case, in Irving’s novels, physical elements tend to go missing: think of the tongue in Garp, the digit in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces reverberate through the narrative. In the book, a key person suffers the loss of an upper extremity – but we only discover thirty pages the finish.

The protagonist reappears late in the book, but just with a final feeling of wrapping things up. We never learn the full narrative of her time in the Middle East. This novel is a disappointment from a novelist who once gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading alongside this work – yet stands up beautifully, four decades later. So pick up it as an alternative: it’s much longer as Queen Esther, but 12 times as enjoyable.