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If a few authors enjoy an imperial phase, in which they reach the pinnacle repeatedly, then American author John Irving’s lasted through a series of several substantial, gratifying novels, from his late-seventies success Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. Such were generous, humorous, big-hearted novels, tying figures he describes as “outsiders” to societal topics from gender equality to reproductive rights.

After Owen Meany, it’s been diminishing returns, except in size. His most recent book, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages long of themes Irving had examined better in prior novels (mutism, restricted growth, gender identity), with a lengthy screenplay in the heart to pad it out – as if padding were necessary.

Therefore we look at a new Irving with care but still a faint flame of optimism, which burns stronger when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s top-tier novels, taking place mostly in an orphanage in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Wells.

This novel is a letdown from a writer who once gave such pleasure

In Cider House, Irving explored termination and acceptance with richness, humor and an all-encompassing understanding. And it was a important book because it moved past the subjects that were turning into repetitive habits in his books: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, Austrian capital, prostitution.

The novel opens in the fictional community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple adopt teenage foundling Esther from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of generations prior to the events of Cider House, yet Dr Larch stays identifiable: even then addicted to ether, adored by his caregivers, beginning every speech with “In this place...” But his appearance in this novel is limited to these initial sections.

The Winslows worry about bringing up Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a adolescent Jewish girl find herself?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be part of the Jewish migration to the region, where she will enter the paramilitary group, the pro-Zionist paramilitary organisation whose “goal was to protect Jewish settlements from opposition” and which would later establish the basis of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Such are enormous themes to take on, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s frustrating that the novel is not really about the orphanage and Dr Larch, it’s even more disheartening that it’s also not really concerning the main character. For causes that must involve narrative construction, Esther ends up as a gestational carrier for a different of the family's offspring, and gives birth to a male child, the boy, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this novel is the boy's tale.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions reappear loudly, both common and specific. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – Vienna; there’s talk of dodging the Vietnam draft through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a pet with a significant designation (the animal, remember the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as the sport, sex workers, writers and penises (Irving’s throughout).

Jimmy is a less interesting persona than the female lead hinted to be, and the supporting players, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are flat also. There are several nice scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a confrontation where a couple of thugs get beaten with a support and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a delicate author, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has consistently reiterated his ideas, telegraphed narrative turns and let them to build up in the audience's thoughts before taking them to completion in long, surprising, entertaining sequences. For instance, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to be lost: remember the tongue in Garp, the digit in His Owen Book. Those missing pieces reverberate through the narrative. In the book, a major person suffers the loss of an limb – but we just discover 30 pages before the conclusion.

Esther comes back toward the end in the novel, but merely with a eleventh-hour feeling of concluding. We do not learn the full story of her experiences in the Middle East. The book is a failure from a writer who in the past gave such delight. That’s the negative aspect. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – I reread it together with this work – still remains beautifully, 40 years on. So pick up that as an alternative: it’s much longer as Queen Esther, but far as great.