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If a few novelists have an imperial period, in which they achieve the heights time after time, then U.S. novelist John Irving’s extended through a series of four long, satisfying works, from his 1978 success Garp to 1989’s Owen Meany. Those were rich, funny, big-hearted novels, tying characters he describes as “misfits” to social issues from feminism to abortion.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining outcomes, save in word count. His last novel, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages in length of themes Irving had examined more effectively in prior works (selective mutism, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a lengthy screenplay in the center to extend it – as if filler were needed.

Therefore we look at a latest Irving with reservation but still a faint spark of hope, which shines stronger when we learn that Queen Esther – a only four hundred thirty-two pages – “returns to the world of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is part of Irving’s top-tier novels, set largely in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer Wells.

This novel is a letdown from a writer who previously gave such delight

In His Cider House Novel, Irving wrote about pregnancy termination and acceptance with colour, comedy and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a major work because it abandoned the themes that were evolving into repetitive habits in his novels: grappling, bears, Vienna, the oldest profession.

The novel opens in the fictional community of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where Thomas and Constance Winslow welcome young foundling the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a several decades ahead of the storyline of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch is still familiar: already addicted to the drug, adored by his nurses, opening every address with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his appearance in this novel is restricted to these opening scenes.

The couple fret about raising Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish female discover her identity?” To address that, we flash forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be a member of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will become part of the Haganah, the pro-Zionist paramilitary force whose “purpose was to protect Jewish communities from opposition” and which would eventually become the foundation of the IDF.

These are enormous themes to tackle, but having introduced them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is not really about the orphanage and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more disheartening that it’s likewise not about Esther. For reasons that must relate to narrative construction, Esther becomes a gestational carrier for a different of the couple's offspring, and gives birth to a son, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the majority of this novel is his tale.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both typical and distinct. Jimmy goes to – naturally – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of dodging the Vietnam draft through self-mutilation (Owen Meany); a canine with a meaningful title (Hard Rain, meet the earlier dog from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, streetwalkers, authors and penises (Irving’s recurring).

The character is a duller figure than Esther suggested to be, and the secondary players, such as students the two students, and Jimmy’s teacher Annelies Eissler, are flat also. There are a few amusing scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a confrontation where a handful of bullies get assaulted with a walking aid and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not once been a nuanced author, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has consistently restated his ideas, hinted at story twists and enabled them to gather in the viewer's mind before leading them to resolution in long, surprising, funny scenes. For instance, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to be lost: remember the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those absences reverberate through the plot. In Queen Esther, a key figure loses an limb – but we merely discover thirty pages the end.

She returns toward the end in the book, but just with a eleventh-hour impression of wrapping things up. We never learn the complete story of her time in Palestine and Israel. This novel is a disappointment from a writer who in the past gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The good news is that Cider House – revisiting it in parallel to this book – even now holds up beautifully, after forty years. So choose the earlier work as an alternative: it’s much longer as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as enjoyable.