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If a few novelists experience an peak period, where they hit the pinnacle consistently, then U.S. author John Irving’s extended through a run of several substantial, rewarding novels, from his late-seventies breakthrough The World According to Garp to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. Those were rich, funny, big-hearted works, tying figures he refers to as “misfits” to societal topics from women's rights to termination.

Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been declining results, except in word count. His most recent book, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages of topics Irving had delved into better in prior novels (inability to speak, short stature, transgenderism), with a 200-page film script in the heart to extend it – as if padding were needed.

Therefore we come to a latest Irving with care but still a small spark of optimism, which shines hotter when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 work is among Irving’s finest books, taking place largely in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer.

The book is a disappointment from a author who once gave such delight

In Cider House, Irving explored termination and identity with vibrancy, comedy and an total understanding. And it was a important work because it left behind the subjects that were evolving into annoying tics in his books: wrestling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, prostitution.

This book opens in the imaginary town of the Penacook area in the twentieth century's dawn, where the Winslow couple take in 14-year-old foundling Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a several generations prior to the action of His Earlier Novel, yet Wilbur Larch is still recognisable: still dependent on ether, respected by his staff, opening every speech with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his presence in the book is confined to these initial parts.

The Winslows fret about raising Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how might they help a young Jewish girl find herself?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to the area, where she will join the paramilitary group, the Zionist paramilitary organisation whose “mission was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would eventually form the foundation of the Israel's military.

Those are massive themes to take on, but having introduced them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s frustrating that Queen Esther is not actually about St Cloud's and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more disappointing that it’s likewise not about the titular figure. For causes that must involve narrative construction, Esther ends up as a surrogate mother for another of the family's children, and gives birth to a male child, the boy, in 1941 – and the bulk of this novel is his tale.

And now is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both typical and distinct. Jimmy relocates to – of course – the city; there’s discussion of avoiding the draft notice through self-mutilation (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a symbolic title (Hard Rain, recall Sorrow from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, sex workers, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s recurring).

The character is a less interesting character than Esther hinted to be, and the secondary figures, such as students the pair, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are flat also. There are a few nice episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a few thugs get battered with a support and a bicycle pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not once been a delicate writer, but that is is not the issue. He has consistently restated his arguments, hinted at narrative turns and allowed them to gather in the viewer's thoughts before leading them to resolution in extended, surprising, amusing scenes. For example, in Irving’s works, body parts tend to disappear: remember the oral part in Garp, the digit in His Owen Book. Those missing pieces resonate through the plot. In Queen Esther, a central figure suffers the loss of an limb – but we just find out 30 pages later the conclusion.

The protagonist comes back toward the end in the story, but merely with a last-minute feeling of ending the story. We not once learn the complete story of her experiences in the region. The book is a disappointment from a author who in the past gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that Cider House – I reread it in parallel to this novel – yet remains wonderfully, four decades later. So choose the earlier work in its place: it’s much longer as the new novel, but a dozen times as great.