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If a few authors experience an golden era, during which they achieve the pinnacle repeatedly, then U.S. writer John Irving’s ran through a series of several fat, rewarding books, from his 1978 hit His Garp Novel to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. These were expansive, funny, warm works, connecting protagonists he calls “outsiders” to social issues from feminism to abortion.

Following A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been diminishing results, aside from in size. His most recent book, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages of subjects Irving had delved into more effectively in previous works (selective mutism, dwarfism, gender identity), with a lengthy film script in the center to fill it out – as if filler were necessary.

Thus we come to a recent Irving with caution but still a faint glimmer of expectation, which glows stronger when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a only four hundred thirty-two pages long – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 novel is one of Irving’s finest books, located largely in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Wilbur Larch and his protege Wells.

This novel is a letdown from a author who once gave such delight

In The Cider House Rules, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and acceptance with richness, humor and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a important novel because it moved past the subjects that were becoming tiresome patterns in his books: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, Austrian capital, prostitution.

Queen Esther opens in the made-up community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the twentieth century's dawn, where the Winslow couple adopt 14-year-old orphan Esther from the orphanage. We are a a number of generations ahead of the events of Cider House, yet the doctor stays identifiable: even then dependent on the drug, beloved by his staff, starting every talk with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his appearance in the book is limited to these initial parts.

The family are concerned about bringing up Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “in what way could they help a young Jewish female find herself?” To answer that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to the area, where she will become part of the Haganah, the pro-Zionist paramilitary organisation whose “purpose was to protect Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would eventually establish the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

These are massive topics to take on, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s frustrating that the novel is not really about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more upsetting that it’s likewise not focused on the main character. For causes that must connect to story mechanics, Esther becomes a substitute parent for a different of the couple's offspring, and delivers to a son, Jimmy, in World War II era – and the bulk of this book is his narrative.

And at this point is where Irving’s preoccupations return strongly, both common and particular. Jimmy goes to – where else? – the city; there’s discussion of evading the military conscription through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a meaningful name (Hard Rain, meet Sorrow from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

He is a duller figure than Esther suggested to be, and the supporting players, such as pupils Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are underdeveloped too. There are several nice set pieces – Jimmy deflowering; a brawl where a handful of thugs get beaten with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a subtle novelist, but that is is not the difficulty. He has repeatedly restated his ideas, foreshadowed plot developments and allowed them to build up in the reader’s mind before bringing them to fruition in long, jarring, entertaining sequences. For case, in Irving’s works, physical elements tend to disappear: recall the oral part in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those losses reverberate through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a key person is deprived of an upper extremity – but we just find out 30 pages the conclusion.

Esther reappears in the final part in the book, but only with a final sense of ending the story. We not once do find out the complete story of her experiences in Palestine and Israel. This novel is a disappointment from a author who in the past gave such delight. That’s the negative aspect. The upside is that Cider House – I reread it alongside this novel – yet stands up wonderfully, four decades later. So choose it instead: it’s much longer as the new novel, but far as enjoyable.