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If certain authors enjoy an peak era, in which they reach the heights repeatedly, then U.S. author John Irving’s ran through a sequence of several substantial, rewarding works, from his 1978 success The World According to Garp to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. Those were rich, witty, warm works, tying figures he calls “outsiders” to social issues from women's rights to abortion.

Following Owen Meany, it’s been waning outcomes, save in size. His previous work, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages of themes Irving had explored more effectively in prior novels (mutism, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a lengthy screenplay in the center to pad it out – as if extra material were necessary.

Therefore we approach a new Irving with care but still a faint glimmer of hope, which burns stronger when we learn that His Queen Esther Novel – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages long – “goes back to the world of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s top-tier books, taking place mostly in an children's home in St Cloud’s, Maine, run by Dr Larch and his apprentice Homer.

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

In Cider House, Irving wrote about abortion and identity with richness, wit and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a major work because it left behind the themes that were evolving into tiresome habits in his novels: grappling, bears, the city of Vienna, prostitution.

The novel starts in the made-up town of New Hampshire's Penacook in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow take in 14-year-old foundling the title character from the orphanage. We are a few years prior to the action of His Earlier Novel, yet the doctor remains identifiable: even then addicted to the drug, beloved by his staff, beginning every address with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in this novel is limited to these early sections.

The family worry about raising Esther properly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how might they help a teenage Jewish girl understand her place?” To tackle that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will join the paramilitary group, the Jewish nationalist militant force whose “purpose was to defend Jewish communities from Arab attacks” and which would later establish the core of the Israel's military.

These are massive themes to take on, but having presented them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is not actually about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s likewise not really concerning the main character. For causes that must involve plot engineering, Esther ends up as a surrogate mother for another of the Winslows’ children, and bears to a son, the boy, in World War II era – and the majority of this novel is Jimmy’s story.

And here is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both typical and distinct. Jimmy goes to – where else? – the Austrian capital; there’s talk of avoiding the military conscription through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a pet with a meaningful title (the animal, recall the earlier dog from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, novelists and penises (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a more mundane figure than the heroine hinted to be, and the minor characters, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are a few nice set pieces – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a brawl where a couple of thugs get battered with a crutch and a bicycle pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a subtle writer, but that is not the problem. He has always restated his points, foreshadowed plot developments and allowed them to gather in the audience's mind before taking them to resolution in lengthy, shocking, funny scenes. For example, in Irving’s works, anatomical features tend to disappear: think of the speech organ in Garp, the finger in His Owen Book. Those absences echo through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a central character is deprived of an limb – but we only discover thirty pages the finish.

The protagonist comes back late in the novel, but only with a eleventh-hour impression of wrapping things up. We never discover the full narrative of her life in Palestine and Israel. This novel is a letdown from a author who previously gave such delight. That’s the negative aspect. The upside is that His Classic Novel – revisiting it in parallel to this work – even now remains excellently, 40 years on. So read the earlier work in its place: it’s much longer as the new novel, but far as enjoyable.