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If a few writers enjoy an golden phase, during which they reach the heights time after time, then U.S. author John Irving’s extended through a run of four substantial, satisfying books, from his 1978 success The World According to Garp to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. These were expansive, humorous, compassionate books, linking protagonists he calls “outsiders” to societal topics from gender equality to reproductive rights.

After Owen Meany, it’s been diminishing outcomes, except in size. His most recent book, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages long of subjects Irving had examined more skillfully in earlier novels (inability to speak, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a 200-page film script in the heart to pad it out – as if filler were needed.

Therefore we come to a latest Irving with caution but still a small spark of expectation, which burns brighter when we learn that His Queen Esther Novel – a only 432 pages long – “returns to the universe of His Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties work is one of Irving’s top-tier works, located largely in an institution in Maine's St Cloud’s, managed by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

The book is a failure from a author who in the past gave such pleasure

In His Cider House Novel, Irving explored abortion and identity with vibrancy, comedy and an total understanding. And it was a important novel because it moved past the themes that were turning into annoying habits in his books: grappling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, sex work.

Queen Esther opens in the made-up village of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where Thomas and Constance Winslow adopt 14-year-old ward the title character from the orphanage. We are a a number of generations before the action of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch is still recognisable: still dependent on anesthetic, respected by his nurses, starting every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in Queen Esther is confined to these early scenes.

The family fret about raising Esther properly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how could they help a adolescent Jewish girl discover her identity?” To answer that, we flash forward to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be part of the Jewish migration to the area, where she will become part of the Haganah, the Zionist paramilitary force whose “goal was to protect Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would subsequently establish the foundation of the Israel's military.

Such are huge topics to tackle, but having brought in them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is not really about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s likewise not about the main character. For causes that must involve story mechanics, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for one more of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a baby boy, James, in World War II era – and the bulk of this novel is Jimmy’s tale.

And here is where Irving’s preoccupations return strongly, both common and particular. Jimmy moves to – naturally – the city; there’s discussion of dodging the military conscription through self-mutilation (Owen Meany); a dog with a significant title (the animal, meet Sorrow from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, prostitutes, authors and penises (Irving’s throughout).

He is a more mundane persona than the female lead hinted to be, and the secondary characters, such as students Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are flat as well. There are several nice set pieces – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a handful of bullies get battered with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not once been a subtle author, but that is not the difficulty. He has repeatedly repeated his ideas, hinted at narrative turns and allowed them to build up in the audience's imagination before taking them to completion in extended, shocking, funny moments. For instance, in Irving’s novels, anatomical features tend to go missing: recall the oral part in Garp, the finger in His Owen Book. Those losses echo through the plot. In the book, a key character loses an upper extremity – but we only learn thirty pages later the conclusion.

She reappears toward the end in the book, but only with a final impression of concluding. We never discover the complete story of her experiences in Palestine and Israel. The book is a letdown from a novelist who in the past gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading alongside this work – yet holds up excellently, 40 years on. So choose it instead: it’s twice as long as this book, but far as great.