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If some writers experience an golden period, during which they achieve the summit repeatedly, then U.S. novelist John Irving’s extended through a series of four fat, satisfying works, from his late-seventies breakthrough The World According to Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. Such were expansive, witty, warm books, linking protagonists he calls “outliers” to cultural themes from gender equality to reproductive rights.

After His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning returns, aside from in size. His last novel, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages long of themes Irving had delved into more effectively in prior novels (inability to speak, short stature, trans issues), with a lengthy script in the middle to pad it out – as if extra material were necessary.

Therefore we look at a recent Irving with caution but still a small spark of hope, which glows stronger when we learn that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages – “revisits the world of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 book is part of Irving’s top-tier novels, located mostly in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, managed by Dr Larch and his assistant Homer Wells.

Queen Esther is a letdown from a writer who previously gave such delight

In The Cider House Rules, Irving explored abortion and identity with vibrancy, humor and an all-encompassing understanding. And it was a important novel because it abandoned the topics that were evolving into repetitive patterns in his works: wrestling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

The novel begins in the made-up town of New Hampshire's Penacook in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome 14-year-old orphan the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a few decades prior to the action of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch stays recognisable: already addicted to ether, beloved by his staff, beginning every speech with “In this place...” But his appearance in this novel is limited to these early scenes.

The family are concerned about parenting Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how could they help a teenage Jewish female discover her identity?” To tackle that, we jump ahead to Esther’s adulthood in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the region, where she will join the Haganah, the Jewish nationalist militant organisation whose “mission was to protect Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would subsequently establish the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are enormous topics to address, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not actually about St Cloud's and Dr Larch, it’s even more disappointing that it’s likewise not really concerning Esther. For causes that must involve narrative construction, Esther turns into a substitute parent for another of the family's offspring, and bears to a male child, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this story is Jimmy’s narrative.

And here is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both typical and specific. Jimmy moves to – naturally – the city; there’s talk of avoiding the Vietnam draft through self-harm (His Earlier Book); a pet with a meaningful title (the dog's name, meet Sorrow from His Hotel Novel); as well as wrestling, streetwalkers, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

Jimmy is a less interesting character than the female lead suggested to be, and the minor players, such as pupils the two students, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are several enjoyable episodes – Jimmy deflowering; a fight where a couple of ruffians get beaten with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a delicate writer, but that is is not the difficulty. He has consistently restated his arguments, hinted at narrative turns and enabled them to gather in the viewer's mind before bringing them to fruition in extended, surprising, amusing scenes. For instance, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to go missing: recall the speech organ in The Garp Novel, the finger in His Owen Book. Those losses reverberate through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a major person suffers the loss of an limb – but we merely find out thirty pages the finish.

The protagonist returns toward the end in the story, but just with a eleventh-hour impression of ending the story. We never do find out the entire narrative of her experiences in Palestine and Israel. This novel is a letdown from a novelist who once gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – I reread it together with this book – yet holds up beautifully, 40 years on. So pick up that instead: it’s double the length as this book, but a dozen times as great.