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If certain authors have an peak phase, where they hit the heights repeatedly, then American author John Irving’s extended through a run of four long, rewarding works, from his 1978 success His Garp Novel to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. Those were expansive, witty, big-hearted books, linking protagonists he describes as “misfits” to societal topics from gender equality to termination.

Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been waning outcomes, except in page length. His last novel, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages in length of topics Irving had examined more effectively in previous novels (selective mutism, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a two-hundred-page script in the center to extend it – as if padding were necessary.

So we come to a recent Irving with reservation but still a tiny flame of hope, which shines brighter when we discover that Queen Esther – a just four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “returns to the universe of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 novel is among Irving’s finest works, set mostly in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Larch and his protege Wells.

This novel is a failure from a writer who in the past gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving explored termination and acceptance with richness, comedy and an comprehensive compassion. And it was a significant book because it abandoned the topics that were turning into annoying tics in his books: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, sex work.

Queen Esther opens in the fictional town of New Hampshire's Penacook in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple adopt teenage orphan the title character from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of generations ahead of the events of The Cider House Rules, yet the doctor remains familiar: even then using anesthetic, adored by his nurses, starting every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his role in the book is limited to these opening scenes.

The couple are concerned about bringing up Esther properly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how could they help a young girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To answer that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will enter the Haganah, the pro-Zionist paramilitary organisation whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish settlements from hostile actions” and which would eventually establish the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are enormous themes to tackle, but having introduced them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not actually about St Cloud's and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more disappointing that it’s likewise not really concerning Esther. For motivations that must involve story mechanics, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for a different of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a baby boy, James, in World War II era – and the majority of this book is the boy's story.

And here is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both regular and particular. Jimmy goes to – naturally – Vienna; there’s mention of avoiding the military conscription through self-mutilation (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a pet with a symbolic designation (the dog's name, remember the earlier dog from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, sex workers, authors and penises (Irving’s passim).

He is a duller persona than the heroine suggested to be, and the minor characters, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are several nice set pieces – Jimmy deflowering; a brawl where a couple of ruffians get beaten with a support and a tire pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a subtle author, but that is not the issue. He has repeatedly restated his arguments, foreshadowed story twists and enabled them to build up in the reader’s imagination before taking them to fruition in long, shocking, entertaining scenes. For instance, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to disappear: remember the speech organ in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces reverberate through the plot. In this novel, a major person loses an upper extremity – but we merely learn 30 pages before the finish.

She returns in the final part in the story, but only with a final feeling of concluding. We never discover the full account of her time in the Middle East. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a author who once gave such pleasure. That’s the downside. The good news is that Cider House – upon rereading in parallel to this book – still stands up beautifully, after forty years. So pick up that instead: it’s double the length as Queen Esther, but 12 times as good.