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If certain novelists enjoy an golden period, during which they reach the summit time after time, then U.S. writer John Irving’s ran through a sequence of several substantial, gratifying books, from his late-seventies hit His Garp Novel to 1989’s Owen Meany. These were rich, witty, big-hearted novels, tying protagonists he refers to as “outsiders” to cultural themes from women's rights to reproductive rights.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been diminishing outcomes, save in size. His most recent work, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages long of topics Irving had explored more effectively in prior works (inability to speak, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a 200-page script in the center to fill it out – as if padding were required.

So we come to a latest Irving with care but still a tiny flame of optimism, which burns hotter when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a only four hundred thirty-two pages – “goes back to the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties novel is among Irving’s finest novels, located primarily in an orphanage in St Cloud’s, Maine, run by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Wells.

This novel is a disappointment from a author who previously gave such pleasure

In The Cider House Rules, Irving discussed abortion and identity with colour, humor and an total empathy. And it was a major work because it moved past the subjects that were becoming repetitive habits in his books: grappling, ursine creatures, Austrian capital, sex work.

This book opens in the imaginary town of the Penacook area in the twentieth century's dawn, where the Winslow couple take in 14-year-old orphan the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a a number of decades before the storyline of His Earlier Novel, yet Wilbur Larch stays identifiable: already addicted to the drug, adored by his caregivers, opening every talk with “In this place...” But his role in this novel is restricted to these early sections.

The couple worry about parenting Esther properly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “in what way could they help a young Jewish female understand her place?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the Roaring Twenties. She will be a member of the Jewish emigration to the region, where she will join the paramilitary group, the Zionist militant force whose “goal was to defend Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would eventually become the core of the Israeli Defense Forces.

These are massive topics to address, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is hardly about the orphanage and Dr Larch, it’s even more upsetting that it’s additionally not really concerning the titular figure. For reasons that must involve plot engineering, Esther ends up as a surrogate mother for another of the couple's offspring, and delivers to a baby boy, James, in the early forties – and the majority of this story is Jimmy’s tale.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both typical and distinct. Jimmy relocates to – of course – the Austrian capital; there’s discussion of dodging the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a dog with a meaningful name (Hard Rain, remember the earlier dog from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, sex workers, authors and penises (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a more mundane character than the heroine hinted to be, and the supporting characters, such as students the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are flat too. There are some nice set pieces – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a couple of thugs get battered with a support and a bicycle pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not once been a subtle writer, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has consistently repeated his ideas, foreshadowed narrative turns and let them to build up in the reader’s thoughts before bringing them to resolution in extended, surprising, entertaining sequences. For example, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to go missing: remember the speech organ in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those absences echo through the narrative. In this novel, a key character loses an arm – but we only discover thirty pages later the end.

The protagonist returns late in the story, but only with a last-minute feeling of concluding. We never do find out the full account of her life in Palestine and Israel. Queen Esther is a letdown from a writer who once gave such joy. That’s the downside. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – revisiting it together with this novel – still remains excellently, after forty years. So pick up that as an alternative: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but far as enjoyable.