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If a few writers enjoy an peak period, during which they hit the heights consistently, then U.S. author John Irving’s ran through a run of four long, satisfying books, from his late-seventies breakthrough The World According to Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were rich, funny, big-hearted novels, tying protagonists he refers to as “misfits” to cultural themes from gender equality to abortion.

After A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been declining outcomes, except in size. His last novel, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages long of themes Irving had explored better in prior works (mutism, short stature, gender identity), with a lengthy film script in the center to extend it – as if extra material were required.

Therefore we approach a recent Irving with care but still a tiny glimmer of hope, which glows hotter when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a mere 432 pages – “revisits the setting of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is one of Irving’s top-tier works, set primarily in an orphanage in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

The book is a failure from a novelist who once gave such pleasure

In His Cider House Novel, Irving discussed abortion and identity with vibrancy, wit and an total understanding. And it was a major book because it abandoned the subjects that were becoming annoying patterns in his works: the sport of wrestling, bears, Vienna, prostitution.

This book opens in the made-up village of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where Thomas and Constance Winslow welcome teenage orphan the title character from the orphanage. We are a several decades ahead of the storyline of Cider House, yet Wilbur Larch stays identifiable: even then addicted to anesthetic, beloved by his staff, starting every speech with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his appearance in this novel is restricted to these initial scenes.

The couple are concerned about raising Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how might they help a teenage Jewish female discover her identity?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will join the Haganah, the Jewish nationalist armed group whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would later form the basis of the IDF.

Such are enormous subjects to take on, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is not actually about the orphanage and the doctor, it’s still more upsetting that it’s likewise not focused on the main character. For motivations that must connect to narrative construction, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for one more of the family's offspring, and bears to a baby boy, Jimmy, in World War II era – and the bulk of this book is the boy's narrative.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both regular and specific. Jimmy moves to – where else? – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of evading the Vietnam draft through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a canine with a significant name (Hard Rain, recall the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, writers and genitalia (Irving’s passim).

He is a less interesting persona than the heroine promised to be, and the supporting characters, such as pupils the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are a few nice scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a brawl where a handful of bullies get assaulted with a crutch and a air pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not once been a delicate writer, but that is is not the problem. He has repeatedly repeated his arguments, hinted at narrative turns and enabled them to gather in the viewer's imagination before leading them to fruition in lengthy, surprising, entertaining moments. For case, in Irving’s books, body parts tend to be lost: think of the oral part in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those absences resonate through the plot. In the book, a major figure suffers the loss of an arm – but we only find out 30 pages before the conclusion.

The protagonist comes back in the final part in the book, but just with a final impression of wrapping things up. We never discover the full story of her time in the Middle East. The book is a disappointment from a writer who in the past gave such joy. That’s the downside. The upside is that Cider House – I reread it in parallel to this novel – yet holds up beautifully, four decades later. So pick up the earlier work in its place: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but 12 times as great.