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If certain writers have an golden phase, where they hit the heights repeatedly, then American author John Irving’s lasted through a sequence of four long, rewarding novels, from his late-seventies hit The World According to Garp to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. These were rich, humorous, compassionate novels, connecting figures he calls “misfits” to social issues from feminism to termination.

After His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been diminishing returns, except in page length. His last book, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages in length of topics Irving had delved into more effectively in prior novels (inability to speak, dwarfism, trans issues), with a 200-page script in the middle to fill it out – as if padding were necessary.

Thus we approach a new Irving with care but still a small flame of optimism, which shines stronger when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a only 432 pages in length – “returns to the universe of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 work is among Irving’s very best works, set primarily in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer.

The book is a failure from a writer who once gave such pleasure

In Cider House, Irving explored abortion and belonging with vibrancy, humor and an total compassion. And it was a important novel because it abandoned the subjects that were becoming annoying habits in his novels: the sport of wrestling, bears, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther starts in the imaginary town of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple take in teenage foundling the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a few years prior to the events of The Cider House Rules, yet Wilbur Larch stays familiar: even then addicted to anesthetic, beloved by his nurses, starting every talk with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his role in this novel is confined to these opening scenes.

The couple fret about raising Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish girl discover her identity?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s adulthood in the twenties era. She will be part of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will enter Haganah, the Zionist militant group whose “goal was to defend Jewish towns from opposition” and which would subsequently become the core of the Israel's military.

These are enormous topics to address, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s regrettable that the novel is not really about St Cloud’s and the doctor, it’s even more disheartening that it’s likewise not about the titular figure. For reasons that must connect to story mechanics, Esther turns into a gestational carrier for a different of the couple's children, and delivers to a baby boy, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the majority of this story is Jimmy’s tale.

And now is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both common and particular. Jimmy moves to – where else? – Vienna; there’s mention of evading the draft notice through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a dog with a meaningful name (the dog's name, meet Sorrow from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, writers and genitalia (Irving’s passim).

He is a duller character than the female lead suggested to be, and the supporting figures, such as young people the two students, and Jimmy’s instructor Annelies Eissler, are flat too. There are a few enjoyable set pieces – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a confrontation where a few ruffians get assaulted with a walking aid and a tire pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not once been a subtle author, but that is is not the difficulty. He has repeatedly reiterated his arguments, hinted at plot developments and allowed them to build up in the audience's imagination before taking them to fruition in long, jarring, entertaining scenes. For example, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to go missing: recall the tongue in Garp, the digit in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the story. In Queen Esther, a key person suffers the loss of an arm – but we only discover 30 pages later the end.

Esther reappears toward the end in the story, but merely with a last-minute feeling of wrapping things up. We never discover the entire account of her life in the region. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a writer who once gave such joy. That’s the bad news. The positive note is that Cider House – upon rereading in parallel to this book – yet stands up excellently, 40 years on. So read the earlier work instead: it’s double the length as the new novel, but 12 times as enjoyable.