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If certain writers experience an imperial phase, in which they achieve the pinnacle repeatedly, then American writer John Irving’s lasted through a sequence of four substantial, rewarding books, from his late-seventies breakthrough Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. These were expansive, funny, warm novels, linking protagonists he describes as “outsiders” to societal topics from feminism to termination.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning returns, aside from in page length. His previous work, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages in length of topics Irving had explored more effectively in earlier books (selective mutism, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a two-hundred-page film script in the middle to pad it out – as if extra material were necessary.

Therefore we come to a new Irving with care but still a small glimmer of optimism, which burns brighter when we learn that Queen Esther – a mere 432 pages long – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 book is one of Irving’s very best novels, taking place primarily in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, managed by Dr Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer Wells.

Queen Esther is a letdown from a author who in the past gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving discussed abortion and identity with richness, humor and an total empathy. And it was a significant work because it moved past the themes that were turning into repetitive tics in his books: wrestling, bears, the city of Vienna, sex work.

Queen Esther opens in the fictional town of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt teenage ward the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of decades prior to the events of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch remains familiar: even then using the drug, respected by his staff, starting every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in this novel is confined to these opening sections.

The family worry about parenting Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a young Jewish female discover her identity?” To answer that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish migration to the region, where she will enter the paramilitary group, the Zionist armed organisation whose “purpose was to protect Jewish towns from hostile actions” and which would eventually establish the foundation of the IDF.

These are enormous subjects to take on, but having brought in them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s regrettable that Queen Esther is not really about St Cloud’s and the doctor, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s likewise not really concerning the titular figure. For motivations that must involve plot engineering, Esther becomes a gestational carrier for a different of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a son, Jimmy, in the early forties – and the majority of this novel is the boy's tale.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both common and particular. Jimmy relocates to – of course – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of dodging the draft notice through self-mutilation (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a pet with a significant title (the dog's name, recall the canine from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, prostitutes, novelists and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

Jimmy is a more mundane character than the heroine suggested to be, and the supporting figures, such as young people the two students, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are underdeveloped also. There are a few amusing set pieces – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a brawl where a handful of ruffians get assaulted with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a delicate author, but that is is not the difficulty. He has consistently repeated his arguments, foreshadowed plot developments and enabled them to build up in the viewer's thoughts before bringing them to completion in extended, jarring, entertaining moments. For case, in Irving’s books, body parts tend to disappear: recall the oral part in Garp, the finger in His Owen Book. Those absences echo through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a major character is deprived of an arm – but we just discover thirty pages before the finish.

Esther comes back in the final part in the novel, but merely with a last-minute impression of wrapping things up. We not once discover the complete narrative of her life in the region. The book is a letdown from a novelist who in the past gave such delight. That’s the downside. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – revisiting it in parallel to this novel – even now stands up beautifully, after forty years. So choose it in its place: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as enjoyable.