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If a few writers experience an golden phase, where they hit the summit consistently, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four substantial, satisfying novels, from his late-seventies breakthrough The World According to Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. These were generous, humorous, warm books, linking figures he calls “outliers” to social issues from women's rights to abortion.

After A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been waning outcomes, except in size. His previous novel, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages in length of subjects Irving had delved into more effectively in earlier novels (mutism, short stature, gender identity), with a lengthy script in the middle to fill it out – as if filler were required.

Thus we approach a latest Irving with reservation but still a small flame of hope, which shines brighter when we learn that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties novel is one of Irving’s top-tier books, taking place primarily in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Dr Larch and his apprentice Homer.

Queen Esther is a letdown from a novelist who once gave such pleasure

In His Cider House Novel, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and identity with vibrancy, humor and an all-encompassing compassion. And it was a major work because it abandoned the subjects that were evolving into annoying tics in his works: wrestling, ursine creatures, Vienna, the oldest profession.

This book opens in the fictional community of New Hampshire's Penacook in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt teenage orphan the protagonist from St Cloud's home. We are a a number of decades ahead of the events of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch stays recognisable: already addicted to ether, beloved by his caregivers, beginning every talk with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his appearance in this novel is limited to these initial parts.

The family worry about parenting Esther correctly: she’s Jewish, and “how might they help a teenage Jewish female find herself?” To tackle that, we flash forward to Esther’s adulthood in the 1920s. She will be a member of the Jewish emigration to the region, where she will enter the Haganah, the Jewish nationalist paramilitary force whose “purpose was to protect Jewish settlements from opposition” and which would subsequently form the basis of the Israel's military.

Those are enormous topics to address, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is hardly about St Cloud's and Dr Larch, it’s still more disappointing that it’s additionally not about the titular figure. For motivations that must involve plot engineering, Esther turns into a substitute parent for another of the Winslows’ children, and delivers to a baby boy, the boy, in World War II era – and the bulk of this story is Jimmy’s narrative.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both common and distinct. Jimmy goes to – where else? – Vienna; there’s discussion of evading the draft notice through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a canine with a significant designation (the animal, meet the canine from His Hotel Novel); as well as grappling, sex workers, authors and genitalia (Irving’s passim).

He is a more mundane character than the heroine hinted to be, and the minor players, such as pupils the two students, and Jimmy’s instructor Annelies Eissler, are flat as well. There are several nice scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a confrontation where a handful of bullies get assaulted with a crutch and a air pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has never been a subtle author, but that is is not the difficulty. He has always reiterated his points, telegraphed plot developments and enabled them to build up in the reader’s mind before bringing them to completion in extended, surprising, amusing moments. For instance, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to go missing: recall the oral part in Garp, the digit in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces resonate through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a major character loses an limb – but we only learn thirty pages the end.

Esther returns in the final part in the novel, but just with a final impression of ending the story. We do not learn the entire account of her experiences in Palestine and Israel. This novel is a disappointment from a writer who in the past gave such joy. That’s the downside. The upside is that Cider House – I reread it together with this novel – yet remains excellently, 40 years on. So read it instead: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but 12 times as enjoyable.