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If certain novelists experience an imperial era, in which they hit the pinnacle consistently, then U.S. novelist John Irving’s ran through a series of several fat, rewarding novels, from his late-seventies success The World According to Garp to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. Such were rich, funny, compassionate novels, linking protagonists he describes as “outsiders” to societal topics from gender equality to reproductive rights.

Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been declining results, aside from in size. His most recent book, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages of themes Irving had examined more effectively in prior books (inability to speak, short stature, gender identity), with a lengthy script in the heart to fill it out – as if extra material were required.

Thus we approach a recent Irving with care but still a small flame of expectation, which burns hotter when we find out that Queen Esther – a just 432 pages long – “goes back to the world of His Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties work is among Irving’s top-tier novels, set mostly in an children's home in St Cloud’s, Maine, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer.

This novel is a letdown from a author who in the past gave such pleasure

In His Cider House Novel, Irving discussed termination and identity with richness, wit and an total understanding. And it was a significant book because it left behind the topics that were turning into annoying habits in his novels: wrestling, ursine creatures, Austrian capital, sex work.

This book opens in the fictional town of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where Thomas and Constance Winslow welcome 14-year-old orphan the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a several decades before the action of The Cider House Rules, yet Wilbur Larch stays identifiable: already using anesthetic, respected by his nurses, beginning every talk with “In this place...” But his appearance in Queen Esther is limited to these initial parts.

The couple are concerned about raising Esther correctly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a teenage girl of Jewish descent discover her identity?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the region, where she will become part of Haganah, the pro-Zionist armed force whose “goal was to defend Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would later form the foundation of the Israel's military.

Such are huge topics to address, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s regrettable that Queen Esther is not really about St Cloud's and the doctor, it’s still more upsetting that it’s additionally not focused on the titular figure. For motivations that must involve story mechanics, Esther ends up as a gestational carrier for another of the family's offspring, and gives birth to a son, the boy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this book is his narrative.

And at this point is where Irving’s obsessions reappear loudly, both typical and distinct. Jimmy goes to – where else? – Vienna; there’s mention of avoiding the military conscription through self-harm (Owen Meany); a canine with a meaningful designation (the animal, recall the canine from His Hotel Novel); as well as wrestling, streetwalkers, writers and male anatomy (Irving’s passim).

The character is a more mundane figure than the female lead suggested to be, and the minor players, such as students Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are one-dimensional too. There are a few enjoyable episodes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a brawl where a handful of bullies get battered with a crutch and a air pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not ever been a subtle novelist, but that is is not the difficulty. He has repeatedly reiterated his points, foreshadowed narrative turns and let them to build up in the viewer's thoughts before leading them to completion in long, jarring, entertaining moments. For case, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to be lost: think of the speech organ in The Garp Novel, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces reverberate through the narrative. In the book, a major figure loses an limb – but we only find out 30 pages the finish.

The protagonist reappears in the final part in the book, but only with a last-minute feeling of wrapping things up. We not once do find out the entire story of her time in the region. This novel is a disappointment from a novelist who in the past gave such pleasure. That’s the downside. The upside is that Cider House – upon rereading alongside this novel – even now holds up excellently, after forty years. So read the earlier work in its place: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but 12 times as enjoyable.