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If certain novelists experience an peak phase, during which they reach the pinnacle time after time, then American writer John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four long, gratifying works, from his late-seventies hit His Garp Novel to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. Such were expansive, humorous, warm novels, tying characters he describes as “misfits” to societal topics from gender equality to abortion.

Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been declining returns, aside from in page length. His most recent book, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages of subjects Irving had examined better in prior works (selective mutism, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a 200-page script in the center to pad it out – as if padding were required.

Therefore we look at a latest Irving with reservation but still a small glimmer of optimism, which glows stronger when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere 432 pages in length – “returns to the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 work is one of Irving’s top-tier works, set largely in an children's home in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer Wells.

This novel is a failure from a novelist who once gave such pleasure

In The Cider House Rules, Irving explored termination and acceptance with richness, humor and an comprehensive understanding. And it was a significant work because it abandoned the topics that were turning into annoying habits in his books: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, Austrian capital, prostitution.

Queen Esther opens in the fictional town of the Penacook area in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome teenage ward the protagonist from the orphanage. We are a several years before the storyline of His Earlier Novel, yet the doctor stays recognisable: still using ether, respected by his nurses, opening every speech with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his presence in the book is restricted to these early parts.

The Winslows are concerned about raising Esther properly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how might they help a teenage Jewish girl discover her identity?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the twenties era. She will be a member of the Jewish emigration to the region, where she will join Haganah, the pro-Zionist armed organisation whose “purpose was to protect Jewish settlements from opposition” and which would later form the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are enormous themes to address, but having brought in them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is not really about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more upsetting that it’s likewise not focused on the titular figure. For motivations that must connect to narrative construction, Esther turns into a gestational carrier for a different of the family's offspring, and delivers to a male child, James, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this novel is his story.

And at this point is where Irving’s preoccupations come roaring back, both regular and specific. Jimmy relocates to – of course – Vienna; there’s talk of dodging the military conscription through self-harm (His Earlier Book); a pet with a significant designation (Hard Rain, meet the canine from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, authors and penises (Irving’s passim).

He is a duller figure than Esther hinted to be, and the secondary figures, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are flat as well. There are a few enjoyable episodes – Jimmy deflowering; a fight where a couple of bullies get beaten with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a nuanced novelist, but that is not the issue. He has always reiterated his arguments, foreshadowed plot developments and enabled them to build up in the viewer's thoughts before taking them to fruition in lengthy, shocking, amusing scenes. For instance, in Irving’s novels, physical elements tend to go missing: remember the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces resonate through the story. In the book, a major figure suffers the loss of an limb – but we just discover thirty pages before the conclusion.

Esther comes back toward the end in the book, but merely with a eleventh-hour feeling of wrapping things up. We not once do find out the complete narrative of her experiences in the Middle East. This novel is a letdown from a novelist who previously gave such pleasure. That’s the negative aspect. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – I reread it alongside this book – yet remains wonderfully, after forty years. So choose the earlier work as an alternative: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but far as enjoyable.