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If a few novelists experience an golden phase, during which they reach the heights time after time, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a series of four long, gratifying books, from his 1978 hit His Garp Novel to 1989’s Owen Meany. These were expansive, humorous, compassionate books, linking figures he refers to as “misfits” to social issues from feminism to termination.

After Owen Meany, it’s been diminishing outcomes, aside from in page length. His most recent novel, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages in length of topics Irving had examined more skillfully in prior books (mutism, restricted growth, gender identity), with a 200-page film script in the center to fill it out – as if extra material were needed.

So we approach a latest Irving with reservation but still a faint spark of expectation, which glows stronger when we discover that Queen Esther – a just four hundred thirty-two pages – “returns to the universe of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s top-tier books, located mostly in an children's home in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Wells.

This novel is a failure from a writer who previously gave such joy

In The Cider House Rules, Irving wrote about abortion and identity with colour, wit and an total compassion. And it was a significant work because it abandoned the themes that were evolving into repetitive habits in his works: grappling, bears, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

The novel begins in the made-up community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow take in teenage ward Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a few decades prior to the events of Cider House, yet the doctor stays recognisable: even then addicted to anesthetic, beloved by his nurses, beginning every speech with “In this place...” But his appearance in this novel is limited to these opening scenes.

The Winslows fret about bringing up Esther properly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “in what way could they help a teenage Jewish female understand her place?” To answer that, we jump ahead to Esther’s adulthood in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to Palestine, where she will become part of the paramilitary group, the pro-Zionist armed group whose “mission was to protect Jewish communities from opposition” and which would subsequently establish the foundation of the Israel's military.

These are huge subjects to take on, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s frustrating that Queen Esther is hardly about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s still more disheartening that it’s likewise not about Esther. For motivations that must involve plot engineering, Esther turns into a gestational carrier for a different of the family's children, and delivers to a son, Jimmy, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this story is his narrative.

And at this point is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both typical and particular. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of evading the military conscription through self-harm (His Earlier Book); a pet with a symbolic designation (Hard Rain, meet the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, prostitutes, writers and genitalia (Irving’s recurring).

He is a more mundane persona than Esther suggested to be, and the minor figures, such as students the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are a few enjoyable scenes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a fight where a few ruffians get assaulted with a support and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a delicate novelist, but that is is not the issue. He has consistently restated his points, hinted at narrative turns and let them to build up in the audience's mind before taking them to completion in extended, surprising, amusing sequences. For case, in Irving’s works, body parts tend to disappear: recall the speech organ in The Garp Novel, the digit in Owen Meany. Those losses resonate through the plot. In this novel, a central character loses an limb – but we only find out thirty pages the end.

Esther returns in the final part in the book, but just with a last-minute feeling of ending the story. We not once do find out the complete narrative of her life in the region. The book is a disappointment from a writer who previously gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The good news is that Cider House – upon rereading in parallel to this novel – yet holds up excellently, four decades later. So pick up that in its place: it’s double the length as this book, but 12 times as good.