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If certain novelists experience an golden phase, during which they achieve the heights time after time, then American author John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four substantial, rewarding works, from his 1978 hit His Garp Novel to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. Such were expansive, funny, compassionate novels, tying protagonists he calls “outliers” to cultural themes from women's rights to termination.

After Owen Meany, it’s been waning results, save in word count. His last work, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages long of subjects Irving had explored more skillfully in previous works (selective mutism, short stature, trans issues), with a 200-page film script in the heart to fill it out – as if extra material were necessary.

Thus we look at a latest Irving with care but still a small flame of optimism, which glows hotter when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a just 432 pages – “returns to the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties work is among Irving’s finest works, set largely in an orphanage in the town of St Cloud’s, managed by Dr Larch and his apprentice Wells.

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

In Cider House, Irving discussed termination and acceptance with richness, humor and an comprehensive compassion. And it was a significant work because it moved past the topics that were evolving into annoying patterns in his novels: grappling, bears, Austrian capital, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther opens in the imaginary community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome young foundling the protagonist from the orphanage. We are a few decades ahead of the events of Cider House, yet Wilbur Larch stays identifiable: already addicted to anesthetic, beloved by his caregivers, opening every talk with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his role in this novel is restricted to these opening parts.

The Winslows fret about bringing up Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a young girl of Jewish descent find herself?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s adulthood in the 1920s. She will be a member of the Jewish migration to the region, where she will enter the paramilitary group, the Zionist paramilitary organisation whose “goal was to defend Jewish towns from Arab attacks” and which would subsequently form the basis of the IDF.

Such are huge subjects to tackle, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is hardly about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s even more disheartening that it’s also not focused on the titular figure. For motivations that must connect to narrative construction, Esther becomes a gestational carrier for a different of the family's offspring, and bears to a son, James, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this novel is the boy's story.

And at this point is where Irving’s preoccupations come roaring back, both common and distinct. Jimmy goes to – naturally – the city; there’s mention of dodging the draft notice through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a pet with a significant name (the dog's name, remember the canine from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, sex workers, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

He is a less interesting persona than the female lead hinted to be, and the supporting characters, such as pupils the two students, and Jimmy’s teacher Annelies Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are several nice episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a few thugs get battered with a crutch and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a nuanced novelist, but that is not the issue. He has repeatedly restated his arguments, hinted at narrative turns and let them to build up in the viewer's imagination before taking them to resolution in long, surprising, funny moments. For example, in Irving’s books, body parts tend to be lost: remember the speech organ in The Garp Novel, the finger in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces resonate through the story. In Queen Esther, a key figure is deprived of an limb – but we only find out 30 pages the conclusion.

The protagonist reappears in the final part in the novel, but just with a final impression of wrapping things up. We not once do find out the full account of her time in Palestine and Israel. The book is a disappointment from a novelist who previously gave such pleasure. That’s the negative aspect. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – I reread it in parallel to this novel – yet remains excellently, four decades later. So read the earlier work as an alternative: it’s much longer as this book, but 12 times as enjoyable.