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If certain authors experience an golden period, where they reach the pinnacle consistently, then U.S. writer John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four substantial, satisfying works, from his late-seventies success The World According to Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were generous, humorous, warm books, connecting characters he refers to as “outsiders” to cultural themes from gender equality to reproductive rights.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining results, aside from in page length. His previous book, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages of subjects Irving had explored more effectively in prior books (mutism, restricted growth, gender identity), with a lengthy film script in the middle to fill it out – as if padding were required.

Thus we approach a recent Irving with care but still a faint flame of optimism, which glows hotter when we discover that Queen Esther – a only 432 pages in length – “returns to the setting of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s top-tier novels, set mostly in an children's home in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer Wells.

The book is a letdown from a writer who in the past gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and acceptance with richness, comedy and an all-encompassing empathy. And it was a important book because it left behind the topics that were turning into tiresome patterns in his works: wrestling, bears, Austrian capital, prostitution.

This book starts in the fictional town of Penacook, New Hampshire in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple take in teenage foundling Esther from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of generations prior to the action of His Earlier Novel, yet the doctor is still recognisable: even then dependent on ether, adored by his nurses, beginning every address with “At St Cloud's...” But his appearance in the book is confined to these initial parts.

The family worry about raising Esther properly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how might they help a young Jewish female understand her place?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be part of the Jewish exodus to the region, where she will become part of Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant group whose “mission was to protect Jewish communities from Arab attacks” and which would eventually form the foundation of the Israel's military.

These are huge topics to take on, but having brought in them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s regrettable that Queen Esther is not really about St Cloud's and Dr Larch, it’s still more disappointing that it’s likewise not really concerning the main character. For motivations that must connect to story mechanics, Esther turns into a gestational carrier for one more of the couple's offspring, and bears to a baby boy, James, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this novel is Jimmy’s tale.

And now is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both common and specific. Jimmy goes to – of course – Vienna; there’s talk of evading the draft notice through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a dog with a significant name (the dog's name, remember the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, prostitutes, novelists and penises (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a duller figure than the heroine suggested to be, and the supporting players, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are some nice episodes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a confrontation where a couple of ruffians get assaulted with a walking aid and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not once been a nuanced author, but that is not the difficulty. He has always repeated his ideas, telegraphed plot developments and let them to gather in the viewer's mind before taking them to completion in long, shocking, funny moments. For instance, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to disappear: think of the oral part in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces echo through the narrative. In this novel, a central person loses an limb – but we only find out 30 pages the end.

The protagonist returns toward the end in the story, but just with a final feeling of concluding. We do not learn the complete account of her experiences in Palestine and Israel. This novel is a failure from a writer who in the past gave such joy. That’s the bad news. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading together with this book – yet stands up excellently, after forty years. So choose that instead: it’s twice as long as this book, but far as good.