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If a few authors enjoy an golden phase, during which they reach the summit time after time, then American author John Irving’s lasted through a sequence of several substantial, gratifying works, from his 1978 success Garp to 1989’s Owen Meany. These were generous, witty, warm books, connecting characters he refers to as “outsiders” to societal topics from gender equality to reproductive rights.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining outcomes, save in page length. His last novel, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages of topics Irving had examined more effectively in previous novels (inability to speak, restricted growth, trans issues), with a 200-page script in the middle to pad it out – as if filler were required.

Therefore we approach a latest Irving with care but still a small spark of optimism, which burns brighter when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a mere 432 pages in length – “returns to the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties work is among Irving’s top-tier books, taking place largely in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, managed by Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer Wells.

The book is a letdown from a novelist who previously gave such delight

In The Cider House Rules, Irving explored pregnancy termination and acceptance with colour, comedy and an all-encompassing understanding. And it was a major book because it left behind the subjects that were evolving into tiresome habits in his works: the sport of wrestling, bears, Vienna, the oldest profession.

The novel starts in the fictional village of the Penacook area in the beginning of the 1900s, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt teenage orphan Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a few years before the events of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch stays familiar: still dependent on anesthetic, respected by his caregivers, opening every speech with “In this place...” But his presence in Queen Esther is confined to these opening scenes.

The family are concerned about raising Esther correctly: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish girl understand her place?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s adulthood in the twenties era. She will be a member of the Jewish migration to the area, where she will join the paramilitary group, the Jewish nationalist armed group whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would subsequently establish the basis of the IDF.

These are enormous themes to tackle, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s frustrating that Queen Esther is not really about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s even more upsetting that it’s likewise not about Esther. For motivations that must connect to plot engineering, Esther turns into a surrogate mother for a different of the Winslows’ children, and gives birth to a son, James, in the early forties – and the bulk of this story is the boy's tale.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both regular and distinct. Jimmy moves to – of course – the city; there’s discussion of evading the military conscription through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a dog with a significant title (the animal, recall the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, authors and penises (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a more mundane figure than the heroine promised to be, and the minor figures, such as students the two students, and Jimmy’s instructor the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are some enjoyable episodes – Jimmy deflowering; a brawl where a few ruffians get beaten with a walking aid and a tire pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not ever been a nuanced author, but that is is not the difficulty. He has repeatedly restated his arguments, foreshadowed narrative turns and allowed them to build up in the audience's mind before leading them to completion in extended, surprising, entertaining sequences. For instance, in Irving’s books, body parts tend to be lost: recall the speech organ in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those absences reverberate through the story. In the book, a major character is deprived of an arm – but we only find out 30 pages the finish.

She reappears late in the book, but just with a final impression of ending the story. We do not discover the complete narrative of her life in Palestine and Israel. This novel is a letdown from a author who in the past gave such joy. That’s the bad news. The good news is that Cider House – I reread it together with this work – even now stands up beautifully, four decades later. So read that in its place: it’s much longer as the new novel, but far as enjoyable.