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If certain authors enjoy an golden period, during which they reach the pinnacle repeatedly, then U.S. writer John Irving’s extended through a sequence of several long, rewarding books, from his late-seventies breakthrough Garp to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. Such were rich, funny, big-hearted books, tying figures he refers to as “outliers” to social issues from women's rights to abortion.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining outcomes, save in page length. His last work, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages long of subjects Irving had explored more skillfully in prior works (selective mutism, restricted growth, gender identity), with a lengthy script in the center to extend it – as if extra material were needed.

Therefore we approach a latest Irving with care but still a small glimmer of optimism, which shines stronger when we learn that Queen Esther – a only four hundred thirty-two pages long – “returns to the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 work is one of Irving’s top-tier novels, taking place mostly in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Larch and his protege Homer Wells.

The book is a failure from a author who in the past gave such pleasure

In His Cider House Novel, Irving wrote about abortion and belonging with colour, humor and an total compassion. And it was a significant novel because it moved past the subjects that were becoming annoying tics in his novels: the sport of wrestling, bears, Vienna, prostitution.

This book begins in the made-up town of New Hampshire's Penacook in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple take in young orphan the title character from the orphanage. We are a several years prior to the storyline of Cider House, yet Dr Larch stays recognisable: already dependent on ether, adored by his caregivers, beginning every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in the book is restricted to these initial scenes.

The family worry about raising Esther correctly: she’s Jewish, and “how might they help a teenage girl of Jewish descent discover her identity?” To tackle that, we flash forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the Roaring Twenties. She will be a member of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will enter the Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant group whose “mission was to protect Jewish towns from opposition” and which would eventually become the basis of the Israeli Defense Forces.

These are huge topics to take on, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s regrettable that this book is not actually about St Cloud's and the doctor, it’s even more upsetting that it’s likewise not focused on the titular figure. For reasons that must connect to plot engineering, Esther ends up as a gestational carrier for another of the family's daughters, and delivers to a baby boy, Jimmy, in World War II era – and the bulk of this novel is his story.

And here is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both regular and distinct. Jimmy goes to – naturally – Vienna; there’s discussion of evading the military conscription through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a canine with a meaningful name (the animal, remember Sorrow from His Hotel Novel); as well as wrestling, prostitutes, novelists and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

He is a less interesting persona than Esther promised to be, and the minor players, such as pupils the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are flat as well. There are some nice set pieces – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a couple of bullies get assaulted with a crutch and a air pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a delicate writer, but that is is not the issue. He has consistently repeated his points, telegraphed narrative turns and allowed them to build up in the reader’s imagination before bringing them to fruition in extended, surprising, entertaining sequences. For example, in Irving’s works, body parts tend to disappear: remember the oral part in Garp, the finger in His Owen Book. Those absences reverberate through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a major person loses an upper extremity – but we just discover thirty pages the finish.

The protagonist returns late in the story, but just with a last-minute sense of wrapping things up. We never discover the full narrative of her experiences in the region. The book is a failure from a author who previously gave such pleasure. That’s the bad news. The upside is that His Classic Novel – revisiting it alongside this novel – still stands up beautifully, four decades later. So choose it in its place: it’s double the length as this book, but far as good.