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If a few writers experience an golden phase, where they hit the heights time after time, then American writer John Irving’s lasted through a series of four fat, satisfying works, from his late-seventies hit Garp to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. These were rich, witty, warm novels, tying protagonists he describes as “misfits” to social issues from gender equality to termination.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been diminishing returns, except in page length. His most recent novel, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages of subjects Irving had delved into better in earlier books (selective mutism, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a lengthy script in the center to extend it – as if filler were required.

So we approach a new Irving with care but still a faint spark of optimism, which burns stronger when we find out that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “goes back to the world of The Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties novel is among Irving’s top-tier novels, taking place primarily in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

This novel is a disappointment from a author who in the past gave such joy

In The Cider House Rules, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and identity with richness, comedy and an all-encompassing compassion. And it was a significant novel because it moved past the subjects that were turning into annoying tics in his novels: the sport of wrestling, ursine creatures, Vienna, prostitution.

The novel begins in the made-up village of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple take in young foundling the protagonist from St Cloud's home. We are a few generations before the events of The Cider House Rules, yet Wilbur Larch is still identifiable: still dependent on ether, adored by his staff, beginning every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in this novel is limited to these initial scenes.

The Winslows worry about parenting Esther correctly: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a adolescent Jewish female understand her place?” To address that, we flash forward to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the region, where she will become part of the paramilitary group, the Zionist armed force whose “purpose was to safeguard Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would eventually form the basis of the Israel's military.

These are enormous themes to take on, but having brought in them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is not actually about the orphanage and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more disappointing that it’s additionally not focused on Esther. For motivations that must involve narrative construction, Esther turns into a gestational carrier for a different of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a male child, Jimmy, in the early forties – and the lion's share of this story is the boy's story.

And at this point is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both common and specific. Jimmy moves to – naturally – Vienna; there’s discussion of evading the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a pet with a meaningful designation (Hard Rain, recall the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as wrestling, sex workers, authors and genitalia (Irving’s recurring).

He is a more mundane figure than the heroine hinted to be, and the supporting characters, such as young people the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are some enjoyable episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a couple of thugs get beaten with a support and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a nuanced writer, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has repeatedly reiterated his points, hinted at narrative turns and allowed them to gather in the audience's thoughts before taking them to resolution in lengthy, shocking, amusing moments. For example, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to go missing: remember the tongue in Garp, the digit in His Owen Book. Those absences resonate through the narrative. In this novel, a central character suffers the loss of an arm – but we just find out 30 pages later the conclusion.

Esther comes back toward the end in the story, but merely with a last-minute impression of concluding. We not once do find out the entire story of her time in the Middle East. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a author who once gave such joy. That’s the bad news. The good news is that Cider House – revisiting it together with this novel – still remains wonderfully, four decades later. So read it instead: it’s twice as long as this book, but 12 times as great.