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If some authors experience an imperial era, in which they reach the summit repeatedly, then U.S. writer John Irving’s ran through a run of several substantial, gratifying works, from his late-seventies success His Garp Novel to 1989’s Owen Meany. These were rich, funny, big-hearted books, linking figures he describes as “outliers” to societal topics from feminism to reproductive rights.

After His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning outcomes, save in page length. His last book, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages long of subjects Irving had explored better in previous works (selective mutism, short stature, trans issues), with a 200-page screenplay in the middle to extend it – as if filler were necessary.

Thus we approach a latest Irving with caution but still a faint spark of expectation, which glows brighter when we find out that Queen Esther – a only four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “goes back to the world of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties novel is one of Irving’s very best works, taking place largely in an institution in Maine's St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Larch and his assistant Homer.

The book is a disappointment from a author who once gave such joy

In The Cider House Rules, Irving wrote about pregnancy termination and belonging with colour, comedy and an all-encompassing compassion. And it was a important work because it moved past the themes that were evolving into tiresome patterns in his novels: wrestling, wild bears, Vienna, sex work.

The novel starts in the imaginary village of New Hampshire's Penacook in the twentieth century's dawn, where the Winslow couple welcome young orphan the title character from the orphanage. We are a few generations ahead of the events of Cider House, yet the doctor stays familiar: even then addicted to ether, adored by his caregivers, starting every address with “In this place...” But his role in this novel is confined to these initial sections.

The family worry about raising Esther correctly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “in what way could they help a young Jewish girl discover her identity?” To address that, we move forward to Esther’s adulthood in the Roaring Twenties. She will be part of the Jewish emigration to Palestine, where she will become part of Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant group whose “goal was to protect Jewish settlements from hostile actions” and which would eventually establish the basis of the Israel's military.

Those are enormous topics to take on, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is not actually about St Cloud’s and the doctor, it’s still more disappointing that it’s also not focused on the main character. For reasons that must connect to narrative construction, Esther turns into a substitute parent for a different of the couple's offspring, and delivers to a baby boy, the boy, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this story is Jimmy’s tale.

And at this point is where Irving’s obsessions reappear loudly, both typical and distinct. Jimmy moves to – naturally – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of avoiding the military conscription through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a canine with a symbolic name (the animal, remember the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, prostitutes, writers and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

He is a more mundane persona than the heroine hinted to be, and the minor players, such as students the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are a few nice episodes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a brawl where a handful of thugs get beaten with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate writer, but that is isn't the issue. He has repeatedly repeated his ideas, telegraphed story twists and enabled them to accumulate in the audience's thoughts before taking them to completion in extended, jarring, amusing scenes. For example, in Irving’s works, body parts tend to go missing: think of the speech organ in Garp, the finger in His Owen Book. Those losses resonate through the story. In the book, a major person is deprived of an upper extremity – but we only find out 30 pages the conclusion.

The protagonist reappears in the final part in the book, but just with a final sense of wrapping things up. We do not discover the full account of her time in the Middle East. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a writer who in the past gave such joy. That’s the downside. The good news is that Cider House – upon rereading alongside this book – yet holds up beautifully, after forty years. So pick up that as an alternative: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but far as great.