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If certain writers have an golden era, in which they reach the summit repeatedly, then American novelist John Irving’s extended through a series of several long, gratifying works, from his late-seventies success The World According to Garp to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. Such were generous, funny, big-hearted novels, tying figures he calls “outsiders” to societal topics from feminism to abortion.

Since Owen Meany, it’s been waning returns, aside from in word count. His most recent work, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages of subjects Irving had delved into more skillfully in earlier books (inability to speak, short stature, transgenderism), with a two-hundred-page film script in the middle to fill it out – as if filler were necessary.

Thus we look at a latest Irving with caution but still a faint glimmer of expectation, which burns stronger when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a just 432 pages in length – “revisits the world of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 book is part of Irving’s very best works, taking place largely in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Wells.

The book is a letdown from a writer who once gave such delight

In His Cider House Novel, Irving wrote about abortion and identity with vibrancy, wit and an total empathy. And it was a significant book because it left behind the topics that were turning into annoying patterns in his books: grappling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, sex work.

Queen Esther opens in the imaginary community of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple adopt young orphan Esther from St Cloud’s. We are a few generations prior to the events of His Earlier Novel, yet the doctor stays familiar: still using the drug, respected by his caregivers, beginning every talk with “In this place...” But his presence in Queen Esther is restricted to these opening scenes.

The Winslows are concerned about bringing up Esther properly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a young Jewish girl find herself?” To answer that, we flash forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to the area, where she will become part of the Haganah, the Zionist militant group whose “purpose was to defend Jewish towns from hostile actions” and which would later establish the foundation of the Israel's military.

Those are huge subjects to address, but having brought in them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s frustrating that the novel is not really about St Cloud's and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more upsetting that it’s additionally not really concerning the main character. For reasons that must involve narrative construction, Esther turns into a gestational carrier for another of the Winslows’ offspring, and bears to a baby boy, James, in World War II era – and the bulk of this book is the boy's narrative.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions reappear loudly, both regular and particular. Jimmy moves to – where else? – Vienna; there’s talk of evading the Vietnam draft through self-mutilation (His Earlier Book); a dog with a meaningful title (the dog's name, remember the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

He is a less interesting character than Esther suggested to be, and the secondary characters, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are one-dimensional too. There are a few enjoyable episodes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a brawl where a couple of ruffians get assaulted with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a nuanced writer, but that is is not the issue. He has consistently reiterated his ideas, hinted at plot developments and let them to gather in the audience's imagination before leading them to completion in lengthy, jarring, funny moments. For example, in Irving’s works, physical elements tend to disappear: remember the tongue in The Garp Novel, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those absences echo through the story. In the book, a major character is deprived of an limb – but we merely find out thirty pages the end.

She returns in the final part in the story, but just with a final sense of concluding. We never learn the entire account of her time in the region. This novel is a failure from a novelist who once gave such joy. That’s the downside. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – I reread it alongside this work – even now remains excellently, after forty years. So read that as an alternative: it’s much longer as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as great.