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If a few novelists have an imperial phase, where they achieve the heights repeatedly, then U.S. novelist John Irving’s ran through a series of four long, rewarding books, from his 1978 success His Garp Novel to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. These were expansive, funny, warm novels, tying figures he calls “misfits” to cultural themes from women's rights to abortion.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining outcomes, except in size. His most recent book, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages of topics Irving had delved into more effectively in previous works (selective mutism, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a 200-page film script in the center to extend it – as if padding were necessary.

Thus we look at a latest Irving with care but still a small glimmer of optimism, which glows brighter when we find out that Queen Esther – a only four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “returns to the setting of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is one of Irving’s top-tier works, set mostly in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer.

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

In Cider House, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and identity with vibrancy, humor and an total understanding. And it was a important book because it left behind the subjects that were turning into tiresome patterns in his works: grappling, ursine creatures, Austrian capital, sex work.

This book opens in the imaginary village of Penacook, New Hampshire in the beginning of the 1900s, where Thomas and Constance Winslow take in teenage orphan the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a a number of years prior to the storyline of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch stays familiar: even then using the drug, adored by his staff, starting every speech with “In this place...” But his presence in Queen Esther is confined to these initial parts.

The Winslows are concerned about parenting Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a young Jewish female find herself?” To answer that, we flash forward to Esther’s adulthood in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to the region, where she will become part of the paramilitary group, the Jewish nationalist armed organisation whose “mission was to protect Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would eventually establish the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are massive themes to take on, but having brought in them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s regrettable that the novel is hardly about the orphanage and Dr Larch, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s also not focused on the titular figure. For causes that must connect to story mechanics, Esther turns into a surrogate mother for a different of the family's daughters, and bears to a male child, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the majority of this book is Jimmy’s narrative.

And at this point is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both regular and particular. Jimmy relocates to – of course – the city; there’s mention of evading the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a pet with a meaningful title (the dog's name, remember the earlier dog from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, sex workers, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a duller persona than Esther promised to be, and the supporting figures, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are some nice set pieces – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a fight where a couple of bullies get battered with a support and a air pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate author, but that is is not the problem. He has repeatedly reiterated his ideas, telegraphed story twists and let them to accumulate in the audience's imagination before taking them to completion in lengthy, jarring, entertaining sequences. For instance, in Irving’s novels, physical elements tend to be lost: recall the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those absences resonate through the plot. In this novel, a central character loses an limb – but we merely discover 30 pages later the conclusion.

She comes back in the final part in the book, but just with a final impression of ending the story. We never learn the entire story of her time in the region. The book is a disappointment from a novelist who previously gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The good news is that His Classic Novel – I reread it together with this book – yet stands up beautifully, 40 years on. So choose the earlier work as an alternative: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as enjoyable.