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If some novelists enjoy an imperial period, where they achieve the pinnacle repeatedly, then American author John Irving’s lasted through a series of four long, rewarding books, from his late-seventies success His Garp Novel to 1989’s Owen Meany. Those were rich, witty, big-hearted novels, tying figures he describes as “outliers” to social issues from feminism to reproductive rights.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning outcomes, aside from in word count. His last book, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages of themes Irving had examined more skillfully in prior books (inability to speak, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a lengthy script in the heart to pad it out – as if extra material were needed.

Therefore we approach a new Irving with reservation but still a small spark of optimism, which glows hotter when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a only four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “revisits the universe of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is among Irving’s very best novels, taking place mostly in an orphanage in Maine's St Cloud’s, managed by Dr Larch and his apprentice Wells.

The book is a failure from a writer who previously gave such delight

In The Cider House Rules, Irving wrote about termination and identity with colour, comedy and an total understanding. And it was a important work because it moved past the themes that were becoming repetitive tics in his novels: the sport of wrestling, bears, Austrian capital, sex work.

The novel starts in the made-up community of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where Thomas and Constance Winslow welcome teenage foundling Esther from the orphanage. We are a several years before the action of Cider House, yet the doctor remains familiar: still dependent on the drug, adored by his caregivers, opening every address with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his appearance in the book is confined to these early scenes.

The Winslows worry about bringing up Esther correctly: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish female find herself?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the twenties era. She will be part of the Jewish emigration to Palestine, where she will become part of the Haganah, the pro-Zionist paramilitary group whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would eventually form the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Such are massive topics to address, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not really about the orphanage and the doctor, it’s all the more disappointing that it’s additionally not really concerning Esther. For causes that must involve story mechanics, Esther ends up as a surrogate mother for one more of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a baby boy, the boy, in World War II era – and the majority of this book is the boy's narrative.

And now is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both typical and specific. Jimmy moves to – of course – the Austrian capital; there’s talk of dodging the Vietnam draft through self-mutilation (Owen Meany); a pet with a symbolic designation (the dog's name, remember the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as wrestling, sex workers, novelists and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

Jimmy is a less interesting character than Esther hinted to be, and the secondary characters, such as students the two students, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are flat also. There are a few enjoyable scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a confrontation where a few ruffians get beaten with a crutch and a bicycle pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate novelist, but that is is not the difficulty. He has consistently reiterated his ideas, foreshadowed narrative turns and enabled them to build up in the audience's thoughts before bringing them to fruition in long, shocking, amusing moments. For example, in Irving’s novels, physical elements tend to be lost: think of the oral part in The Garp Novel, the digit in Owen Meany. Those absences reverberate through the narrative. In this novel, a key person loses an arm – but we merely learn 30 pages before the end.

She returns in the final part in the novel, but merely with a last-minute impression of wrapping things up. We never do find out the full account of her life in Palestine and Israel. The book is a letdown from a novelist who in the past gave such delight. That’s the negative aspect. The positive note is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading in parallel to this work – still remains beautifully, after forty years. So pick up it as an alternative: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as enjoyable.