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If certain novelists enjoy an peak phase, where they achieve the heights consistently, then U.S. author John Irving’s ran through a run of several substantial, gratifying works, from his late-seventies breakthrough His Garp Novel to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. Such were generous, humorous, big-hearted novels, connecting protagonists he describes as “misfits” to social issues from feminism to termination.

Following A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been waning results, except in word count. His previous work, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages in length of subjects Irving had examined more skillfully in prior books (selective mutism, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a lengthy script in the middle to extend it – as if extra material were needed.

Thus we look at a recent Irving with reservation but still a small glimmer of expectation, which burns brighter when we discover that Queen Esther – a just 432 pages long – “revisits the universe of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 work is part of Irving’s very best works, located mostly in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Wells.

The book is a letdown from a writer who in the past gave such pleasure

In The Cider House Rules, Irving wrote about termination and identity with richness, comedy and an comprehensive understanding. And it was a important work because it moved past the topics that were becoming repetitive tics in his works: grappling, wild bears, Vienna, prostitution.

Queen Esther opens in the made-up community of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome 14-year-old ward the title character from the orphanage. We are a a number of decades prior to the events of His Earlier Novel, yet Wilbur Larch stays recognisable: already using ether, adored by his caregivers, beginning every speech with “In this place...” But his role in this novel is restricted to these early scenes.

The Winslows worry about raising Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “how might they help a adolescent girl of Jewish descent find herself?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish migration to the area, where she will join Haganah, the Zionist paramilitary force whose “goal was to defend Jewish communities from opposition” and which would eventually become the basis of the Israel's military.

These are massive themes to address, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is not really about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s even more disheartening that it’s also not focused on Esther. For motivations that must connect to narrative construction, Esther ends up as a gestational carrier for one more of the Winslows’ children, and delivers to a baby boy, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the bulk of this novel is the boy's story.

And at this point is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both typical and specific. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – the Austrian capital; there’s talk of avoiding the draft notice through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a dog with a meaningful name (Hard Rain, recall Sorrow from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, authors and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a more mundane character than the heroine hinted to be, and the minor players, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are underdeveloped too. There are several enjoyable scenes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a confrontation where a handful of ruffians get battered with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate writer, but that is isn't the issue. He has repeatedly reiterated his points, foreshadowed plot developments and enabled them to build up in the viewer's mind before bringing them to fruition in long, shocking, amusing scenes. For example, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to go missing: remember the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the plot. In this novel, a central person loses an upper extremity – but we merely learn 30 pages later the finish.

She reappears late in the novel, but only with a last-minute sense of concluding. We do not discover the complete story of her time in the region. This novel is a disappointment from a author who once gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The upside is that Cider House – upon rereading together with this book – still stands up excellently, 40 years on. So read the earlier work instead: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but 12 times as good.