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If a few authors enjoy an peak era, during which they achieve the pinnacle consistently, then American writer John Irving’s ran through a sequence of several long, satisfying books, from his 1978 breakthrough His Garp Novel to 1989’s Owen Meany. These were generous, witty, big-hearted novels, connecting characters he calls “outliers” to societal topics from feminism to reproductive rights.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning results, except in page length. His previous book, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages long of topics Irving had delved into more skillfully in prior works (mutism, dwarfism, trans issues), with a two-hundred-page film script in the heart to fill it out – as if extra material were needed.

Therefore we look at a latest Irving with caution but still a faint glimmer of expectation, which glows hotter when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a just 432 pages – “returns to the universe of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 work is one of Irving’s finest books, located primarily in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his protege Wells.

Queen Esther is a letdown from a author who in the past gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving wrote about pregnancy termination and belonging with colour, humor and an all-encompassing empathy. And it was a important book because it moved past the topics that were turning into tiresome patterns in his works: grappling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther starts in the fictional town of the Penacook area in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple welcome 14-year-old foundling Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a few generations prior to the events of His Earlier Novel, yet the doctor stays recognisable: still using ether, respected by his staff, opening every talk with “In this place...” But his appearance in the book is limited to these early scenes.

The couple are concerned about raising Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a adolescent Jewish girl find herself?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s grown-up years in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish exodus to the region, where she will enter Haganah, the pro-Zionist paramilitary force whose “mission was to safeguard Jewish settlements from hostile actions” and which would later become the basis of the Israel's military.

Such are enormous topics to tackle, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s regrettable that this book is not really about St Cloud's and Dr Larch, it’s even more disappointing that it’s also not about the titular figure. For causes that must involve story mechanics, Esther turns into a surrogate mother for one more of the Winslows’ children, and delivers to a son, Jimmy, in World War II era – and the bulk of this book is his story.

And at this point is where Irving’s preoccupations return strongly, both typical and particular. Jimmy moves to – naturally – Vienna; there’s discussion of avoiding the military conscription through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a pet with a symbolic name (the dog's name, recall the earlier dog from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, streetwalkers, writers and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

He is a duller persona than Esther promised to be, and the secondary players, such as pupils the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are underdeveloped too. There are some enjoyable scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a brawl where a handful of bullies get battered with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not once been a nuanced author, but that is is not the issue. He has always reiterated his arguments, foreshadowed narrative turns and let them to gather in the reader’s mind before taking them to completion in extended, shocking, entertaining scenes. For instance, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to go missing: think of the oral part in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the story. In this novel, a major figure is deprived of an upper extremity – but we just learn thirty pages before the conclusion.

She comes back late in the book, but just with a eleventh-hour impression of wrapping things up. We never do find out the complete story of her life in the Middle East. Queen Esther is a failure from a writer who once gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that His Classic Novel – I reread it alongside this novel – still holds up excellently, four decades later. So choose that in its place: it’s double the length as this book, but far as great.