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If certain authors enjoy an golden phase, during which they hit the pinnacle consistently, then American author John Irving’s ran through a sequence of several fat, rewarding novels, from his late-seventies success The World According to Garp to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. Those were rich, humorous, warm works, connecting figures he describes as “misfits” to social issues from women's rights to termination.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning outcomes, aside from in page length. His last novel, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages of themes Irving had explored more effectively in prior books (selective mutism, short stature, trans issues), with a 200-page screenplay in the middle to extend it – as if padding were needed.

Thus we approach a latest Irving with reservation but still a faint flame of hope, which shines stronger when we learn that His Queen Esther Novel – a only four hundred thirty-two pages – “goes back to the setting of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s top-tier works, located primarily in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Larch and his protege Homer Wells.

This novel is a failure from a author who once gave such joy

In His Cider House Novel, Irving explored abortion and identity with vibrancy, comedy and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a important novel because it left behind the themes that were becoming tiresome patterns in his works: wrestling, wild bears, Austrian capital, sex work.

Queen Esther begins in the made-up community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt teenage foundling the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of generations before the storyline of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch remains familiar: even then addicted to ether, beloved by his caregivers, opening every address with “At St Cloud's...” But his appearance in this novel is confined to these opening parts.

The couple worry about parenting Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a young girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To address that, we move forward to Esther’s adulthood in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will join Haganah, the Zionist armed group whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish towns from hostile actions” and which would later form the core of the IDF.

Such are huge topics to address, but having brought in them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s regrettable that this book is not actually about the orphanage and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more upsetting that it’s likewise not really concerning the titular figure. For causes that must connect to story mechanics, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for another of the Winslows’ daughters, and gives birth to a son, the boy, in 1941 – and the bulk of this novel is Jimmy’s story.

And at this point is where Irving’s preoccupations come roaring back, both regular and particular. Jimmy moves to – where else? – the Austrian capital; there’s discussion of avoiding the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a canine with a meaningful title (Hard Rain, recall the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, streetwalkers, authors and penises (Irving’s recurring).

The character is a less interesting character than the female lead promised to be, and the secondary players, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are underdeveloped also. There are several amusing set pieces – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a couple of ruffians get assaulted with a support and a tire pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has never been a nuanced author, but that is not the issue. He has repeatedly restated his points, foreshadowed story twists and allowed them to build up in the viewer's mind before leading them to fruition in long, surprising, amusing sequences. For case, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to disappear: remember the tongue in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the narrative. In this novel, a central figure is deprived of an arm – but we merely discover 30 pages before the conclusion.

Esther comes back late in the novel, but just with a final sense of concluding. We not once discover the full account of her experiences in the Middle East. The book is a disappointment from a writer who in the past gave such delight. That’s the bad news. The good news is that His Classic Novel – I reread it alongside this novel – yet holds up excellently, four decades later. So read it as an alternative: it’s double the length as the new novel, but far as enjoyable.