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If certain novelists have an peak phase, where they reach the pinnacle time after time, then American writer John Irving’s lasted through a sequence of four fat, rewarding novels, from his late-seventies hit His Garp Novel to 1989’s Owen Meany. Such were expansive, funny, big-hearted works, linking characters he refers to as “outsiders” to societal topics from women's rights to abortion.

After Owen Meany, it’s been waning outcomes, aside from in size. His most recent book, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages in length of subjects Irving had delved into better in earlier works (inability to speak, restricted growth, gender identity), with a 200-page script in the center to extend it – as if filler were required.

Therefore we approach a new Irving with caution but still a faint spark of optimism, which shines stronger when we learn that Queen Esther – a just 432 pages in length – “revisits the world of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is part of Irving’s finest novels, located primarily in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer.

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

In Cider House, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and belonging with vibrancy, humor and an total compassion. And it was a important novel because it moved past the topics that were turning into tiresome patterns in his books: wrestling, wild bears, Austrian capital, prostitution.

This book opens in the imaginary village of New Hampshire's Penacook in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt 14-year-old orphan the protagonist from St Cloud's home. We are a several generations ahead of the storyline of Cider House, yet the doctor remains identifiable: already addicted to ether, respected by his nurses, beginning every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his appearance in this novel is restricted to these opening sections.

The couple worry about raising Esther properly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how could they help a adolescent Jewish girl find herself?” To address that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will join Haganah, the pro-Zionist paramilitary force whose “goal was to protect Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would later form the core of the IDF.

Those are enormous subjects to address, but having introduced them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s regrettable that this book is not actually about St Cloud's and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more disheartening that it’s also not about the main character. For causes that must relate to plot engineering, Esther ends up as a gestational carrier for a different of the Winslows’ daughters, and gives birth to a son, James, in World War II era – and the bulk of this book is Jimmy’s story.

And here is where Irving’s preoccupations reappear loudly, both regular and distinct. Jimmy goes to – of course – the Austrian capital; there’s discussion of dodging the military conscription through self-mutilation (Owen Meany); a canine with a symbolic designation (Hard Rain, meet Sorrow from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, writers and genitalia (Irving’s passim).

He is a duller character than the heroine hinted to be, and the supporting players, such as young people the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are flat too. There are some enjoyable set pieces – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a brawl where a couple of thugs get beaten with a crutch and a bicycle pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a nuanced writer, but that is not the issue. He has repeatedly reiterated his ideas, foreshadowed story twists and let them to gather in the viewer's thoughts before taking them to fruition in lengthy, surprising, entertaining moments. For instance, in Irving’s works, physical elements tend to be lost: remember the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in His Owen Book. Those missing pieces reverberate through the plot. In this novel, a central figure is deprived of an limb – but we just find out thirty pages the conclusion.

Esther comes back toward the end in the novel, but just with a final impression of ending the story. We never discover the complete story of her life in Palestine and Israel. This novel is a disappointment from a novelist who once gave such pleasure. That’s the negative aspect. The upside is that Cider House – revisiting it in parallel to this work – still stands up beautifully, four decades later. So pick up that as an alternative: it’s twice as long as this book, but far as good.