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If certain writers enjoy an peak phase, during which they achieve the summit repeatedly, then American writer John Irving’s lasted through a run of several fat, rewarding works, from his late-seventies breakthrough Garp to 1989’s Owen Meany. These were generous, witty, compassionate works, connecting characters he refers to as “outsiders” to cultural themes from feminism to reproductive rights.

After Owen Meany, it’s been waning results, aside from in word count. His previous novel, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages long of topics Irving had examined more effectively in earlier works (mutism, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a two-hundred-page film script in the middle to pad it out – as if filler were necessary.

So we approach a new Irving with caution but still a small glimmer of expectation, which shines hotter when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages long – “goes back to the setting of His Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties book is one of Irving’s top-tier works, set largely in an orphanage in Maine's St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Larch and his protege Wells.

This novel is a letdown from a novelist who once gave such delight

In Cider House, Irving discussed termination and acceptance with richness, wit and an all-encompassing compassion. And it was a major book because it left behind the subjects that were evolving into annoying patterns in his books: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

This book starts in the made-up community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow take in 14-year-old ward the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of decades before the events of The Cider House Rules, yet the doctor is still identifiable: still dependent on ether, beloved by his staff, starting every speech with “In this place...” But his presence in Queen Esther is confined to these initial parts.

The family worry about raising Esther well: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how could they help a teenage Jewish female understand her place?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s adulthood in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish migration to the area, where she will become part of Haganah, the Zionist paramilitary organisation whose “purpose was to safeguard Jewish towns from hostile actions” and which would later form the basis of the IDF.

These are massive topics to take on, but having brought in them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s regrettable that the novel is not actually about St Cloud's and the doctor, it’s even more disappointing that it’s additionally not really concerning Esther. For motivations that must connect to plot engineering, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for one more of the family's offspring, and bears to a baby boy, James, in 1941 – and the majority of this book is Jimmy’s tale.

And now is where Irving’s preoccupations return strongly, both regular and distinct. Jimmy moves to – of course – Vienna; there’s discussion of avoiding the Vietnam draft through self-mutilation (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a symbolic name (Hard Rain, remember the earlier dog from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, authors and penises (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a less interesting character than Esther suggested to be, and the minor figures, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are underdeveloped too. There are a few amusing episodes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a fight where a couple of bullies get assaulted with a walking aid and a bicycle pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not ever been a nuanced novelist, but that is is not the problem. He has consistently reiterated his points, hinted at story twists and let them to accumulate in the reader’s thoughts before bringing them to fruition in long, jarring, funny moments. For instance, in Irving’s books, body parts tend to go missing: recall the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in His Owen Book. Those losses echo through the story. In this novel, a central character suffers the loss of an arm – but we only discover 30 pages before the finish.

Esther returns in the final part in the novel, but just with a final impression of ending the story. We not once discover the full account of her life in the region. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a author who once gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The upside is that His Classic Novel – I reread it alongside this work – yet holds up beautifully, 40 years on. So pick up it as an alternative: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but a dozen times as enjoyable.