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If some novelists have an imperial phase, in which they hit the heights time after time, then American writer John Irving’s extended through a sequence of four long, rewarding works, from his 1978 success His Garp Novel to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. Such were generous, humorous, warm books, tying protagonists he describes as “outliers” to societal topics from gender equality to reproductive rights.

After A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been waning returns, save in page length. His most recent book, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages long of topics Irving had examined more effectively in earlier books (mutism, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a lengthy film script in the middle to fill it out – as if filler were required.

Thus we look at a latest Irving with reservation but still a faint flame of expectation, which shines stronger when we find out that Queen Esther – a just four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “goes back to the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s finest works, taking place primarily in an institution in Maine's St Cloud’s, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer.

Queen Esther is a disappointment from a author who once gave such delight

In Cider House, Irving wrote about abortion and belonging with richness, humor and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a important novel because it abandoned the themes that were evolving into annoying habits in his novels: the sport of wrestling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, sex work.

Queen Esther opens in the fictional town of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt teenage orphan Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a a number of decades prior to the action of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch remains recognisable: still dependent on anesthetic, beloved by his staff, beginning every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in Queen Esther is limited to these early sections.

The couple fret about bringing up Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish girl find herself?” To tackle that, we flash forward to Esther’s adulthood in the 1920s. She will be a member of the Jewish emigration to the area, where she will join the paramilitary group, the pro-Zionist armed force whose “mission was to protect Jewish towns from hostile actions” and which would eventually become the foundation of the IDF.

Such are massive subjects to address, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that the novel is not really about St Cloud's and the doctor, it’s still more disappointing that it’s additionally not focused on the titular figure. For reasons that must involve plot engineering, Esther turns into a substitute parent for a different of the Winslows’ children, and gives birth to a son, James, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this story is Jimmy’s story.

And now is where Irving’s preoccupations reappear loudly, both regular and particular. Jimmy moves to – of course – the city; there’s talk of avoiding the draft notice through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a canine with a significant name (the animal, recall the canine from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, sex workers, authors and penises (Irving’s throughout).

He is a more mundane persona than the heroine promised to be, and the secondary figures, such as pupils the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher Annelies Eissler, are flat too. There are several amusing episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a few ruffians get beaten with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate novelist, but that is not the difficulty. He has repeatedly reiterated his ideas, hinted at plot developments and enabled them to build up in the audience's mind before taking them to resolution in lengthy, shocking, funny scenes. For case, in Irving’s novels, anatomical features tend to go missing: remember the tongue in Garp, the finger in His Owen Book. Those losses resonate through the narrative. In this novel, a key figure loses an limb – but we merely learn 30 pages the conclusion.

Esther returns toward the end in the novel, but just with a final feeling of concluding. We never discover the entire story of her experiences in the region. Queen Esther is a failure from a novelist who in the past gave such delight. That’s the bad news. The good news is that Cider House – upon rereading together with this novel – still holds up beautifully, 40 years on. So pick up the earlier work instead: it’s much longer as Queen Esther, but far as enjoyable.