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If certain novelists have an golden period, where they reach the pinnacle consistently, then U.S. author John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four long, satisfying books, from his late-seventies success The World According to Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. These were rich, funny, warm novels, connecting figures he refers to as “outsiders” to social issues from women's rights to abortion.

Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been declining results, aside from in size. His last novel, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages long of subjects Irving had delved into better in earlier books (mutism, short stature, transgenderism), with a lengthy screenplay in the heart to extend it – as if padding were necessary.

Thus we look at a latest Irving with reservation but still a faint flame of optimism, which glows brighter when we learn that His Queen Esther Novel – a mere 432 pages in length – “revisits the universe of The Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties work is part of Irving’s very best works, located mostly in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer Wells.

Queen Esther is a failure from a author who previously gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving discussed termination and acceptance with vibrancy, wit and an comprehensive compassion. And it was a important novel because it abandoned the themes that were turning into annoying patterns in his novels: grappling, wild bears, Austrian capital, the oldest profession.

The novel begins in the imaginary village of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple welcome 14-year-old ward the title character from the orphanage. We are a a number of years prior to the storyline of The Cider House Rules, yet Wilbur Larch remains recognisable: still dependent on the drug, beloved by his staff, starting every address with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in the book is confined to these early parts.

The couple fret about bringing up Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish female discover her identity?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to the area, where she will join the paramilitary group, the Zionist armed force whose “purpose was to safeguard Jewish towns from hostile actions” and which would later become the core of the Israel's military.

Such are huge topics to tackle, but having introduced them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not actually about St Cloud's and the doctor, it’s even more disappointing that it’s likewise not focused on Esther. For reasons that must involve narrative construction, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for another of the couple's offspring, and delivers to a son, the boy, in the early forties – and the lion's share of this novel is the boy's narrative.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both common and distinct. Jimmy moves to – of course – Vienna; there’s talk of dodging the military conscription through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a pet with a symbolic designation (Hard Rain, recall Sorrow from His Hotel Novel); as well as wrestling, sex workers, writers and genitalia (Irving’s recurring).

He is a less interesting figure than the heroine hinted to be, and the secondary figures, such as students Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are some enjoyable scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a few ruffians get assaulted with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a delicate novelist, but that is isn't the issue. He has repeatedly reiterated his arguments, telegraphed story twists and enabled them to gather in the reader’s imagination before bringing them to resolution in extended, surprising, funny scenes. For case, in Irving’s works, physical elements tend to disappear: remember the speech organ in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the plot. In this novel, a central person is deprived of an upper extremity – but we merely discover thirty pages before the finish.

Esther comes back toward the end in the story, but just with a final impression of concluding. We do not learn the full narrative of her experiences in Palestine and Israel. Queen Esther is a failure from a novelist who previously gave such delight. That’s the bad news. The positive note is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading alongside this novel – yet holds up beautifully, after forty years. So pick up that in its place: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as enjoyable.