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If a few novelists experience an peak phase, where they achieve the pinnacle repeatedly, then U.S. writer John Irving’s extended through a run of four substantial, gratifying novels, from his 1978 hit Garp to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. These were expansive, funny, compassionate works, connecting figures he calls “outsiders” to societal topics from gender equality to abortion.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining outcomes, except in size. His most recent work, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages in length of themes Irving had delved into more effectively in prior novels (selective mutism, short stature, trans issues), with a two-hundred-page screenplay in the center to fill it out – as if filler were necessary.

Therefore we come to a latest Irving with care but still a small flame of optimism, which shines hotter when we learn that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages – “revisits the world of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is part of Irving’s very best novels, taking place mostly in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

This novel is a failure from a novelist who previously gave such pleasure

In Cider House, Irving wrote about abortion and identity with colour, wit and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a important work because it abandoned the themes that were evolving into annoying patterns in his works: grappling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

This book begins in the imaginary town of New Hampshire's Penacook in the beginning of the 1900s, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow take in teenage ward Esther from St Cloud’s. We are a several years before the events of His Earlier Novel, yet the doctor is still familiar: even then addicted to ether, adored by his staff, beginning every address with “At St Cloud's...” But his role in Queen Esther is limited to these early parts.

The Winslows fret about raising Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a young Jewish female discover her identity?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to Palestine, where she will become part of the paramilitary group, the Jewish nationalist militant group whose “mission was to defend Jewish settlements from opposition” and which would subsequently form the foundation of the IDF.

These are enormous themes to take on, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s regrettable that this book is hardly about St Cloud's and the doctor, it’s even more disappointing that it’s additionally not focused on Esther. For reasons that must relate to story mechanics, Esther turns into a substitute parent for a different of the couple's offspring, and gives birth to a son, the boy, in 1941 – and the bulk of this story is his narrative.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both typical and distinct. Jimmy relocates to – of course – Vienna; there’s talk of evading the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a symbolic designation (the animal, recall the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, sex workers, writers and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a more mundane figure than the female lead promised to be, and the minor players, such as pupils Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are one-dimensional also. There are a few enjoyable episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a handful of bullies get battered with a walking aid and a bicycle pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not once been a subtle author, but that is is not the issue. He has always restated his ideas, telegraphed narrative turns and let them to build up in the audience's mind before bringing them to fruition in long, shocking, entertaining scenes. For example, in Irving’s works, physical elements tend to go missing: recall the tongue in The Garp Novel, the digit in His Owen Book. Those absences resonate through the plot. In Queen Esther, a key person suffers the loss of an limb – but we only find out 30 pages later the conclusion.

She returns in the final part in the book, but merely with a final impression of wrapping things up. We do not learn the entire account of her time in Palestine and Israel. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a author who in the past gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – I reread it alongside this book – even now stands up beautifully, after forty years. So read that in its place: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but 12 times as enjoyable.