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If some writers have an peak era, where they achieve the heights consistently, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a series of four fat, rewarding works, from his 1978 success The World According to Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. These were generous, witty, compassionate novels, linking protagonists he describes as “misfits” to social issues from feminism to termination.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning returns, save in page length. His most recent book, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages of themes Irving had explored more skillfully in earlier novels (mutism, short stature, transgenderism), with a 200-page screenplay in the center to extend it – as if extra material were necessary.

So we look at a new Irving with care but still a faint spark of hope, which burns stronger when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a only four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “goes back to the world of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s finest books, set primarily in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, run by Wilbur Larch and his protege Homer Wells.

This novel is a failure from a writer who once gave such joy

In His Cider House Novel, Irving explored pregnancy termination and identity with vibrancy, wit and an total compassion. And it was a important novel because it left behind the subjects that were becoming annoying patterns in his novels: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, sex work.

The novel starts in the fictional village of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome young ward the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a few decades before the events of Cider House, yet Wilbur Larch remains recognisable: still using ether, adored by his nurses, opening every address with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his appearance in Queen Esther is confined to these opening parts.

The family fret about bringing up Esther properly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “in what way could they help a adolescent girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To answer that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the twenties era. She will be part of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will join Haganah, the pro-Zionist armed organisation whose “mission was to protect Jewish settlements from hostile actions” and which would later form the basis of the IDF.

Such are huge topics to tackle, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s regrettable that the novel is not really about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s also not focused on the main character. For causes that must involve narrative construction, Esther becomes a substitute parent for one more of the family's offspring, and gives birth to a baby boy, the boy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this book is his narrative.

And here is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both regular and specific. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – the city; there’s mention of avoiding the draft notice through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a pet with a meaningful designation (the animal, remember the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, sex workers, novelists and genitalia (Irving’s passim).

He is a more mundane persona than the female lead suggested to be, and the minor characters, such as students Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are one-dimensional too. There are several enjoyable scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a handful of bullies get battered with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has never been a nuanced novelist, but that is isn't the problem. He has consistently repeated his points, telegraphed story twists and let them to build up in the reader’s mind before bringing them to resolution in lengthy, surprising, funny moments. For example, in Irving’s works, body parts tend to be lost: remember the speech organ in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those absences resonate through the narrative. In this novel, a major figure is deprived of an arm – but we just discover thirty pages later the finish.

The protagonist comes back toward the end in the story, but just with a final sense of ending the story. We do not learn the entire story of her time in the region. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a author who in the past gave such joy. That’s the downside. The good news is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading alongside this novel – even now stands up wonderfully, 40 years on. So read it in its place: it’s much longer as the new novel, but far as enjoyable.