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If certain novelists experience an golden era, where they hit the heights time after time, then American novelist John Irving’s extended through a series of several fat, rewarding novels, from his late-seventies breakthrough Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were rich, humorous, big-hearted books, linking figures he refers to as “misfits” to cultural themes from feminism to abortion.

After Owen Meany, it’s been waning returns, except in word count. His most recent work, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages long of subjects Irving had explored more skillfully in prior books (inability to speak, short stature, gender identity), with a two-hundred-page screenplay in the heart to pad it out – as if extra material were required.

Thus we approach a new Irving with care but still a tiny glimmer of optimism, which shines hotter when we find out that Queen Esther – a just four hundred thirty-two pages long – “revisits the setting of His Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties novel is among Irving’s top-tier books, located largely in an orphanage in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

The book is a failure from a novelist who previously gave such pleasure

In The Cider House Rules, Irving discussed termination and identity with richness, wit and an all-encompassing empathy. And it was a significant novel because it left behind the subjects that were turning into annoying habits in his books: the sport of wrestling, bears, Vienna, sex work.

The novel opens in the imaginary community of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple welcome 14-year-old foundling the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a a number of years before the action of The Cider House Rules, yet Wilbur Larch remains familiar: still addicted to ether, beloved by his nurses, beginning every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in the book is limited to these initial parts.

The Winslows are concerned about parenting Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “in what way could they help a young Jewish girl understand her place?” To tackle that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be part of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will enter the paramilitary group, the Zionist militant group whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish communities from opposition” and which would later establish the basis of the IDF.

Those are huge topics to take on, but having introduced them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is hardly about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s still more disappointing that it’s additionally not focused on the titular figure. For causes that must involve story mechanics, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for a different of the family's offspring, and gives birth to a son, James, in the early forties – and the bulk of this book is Jimmy’s story.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both common and distinct. Jimmy moves to – of course – Vienna; there’s discussion of evading the draft notice through self-harm (Owen Meany); a dog with a significant designation (Hard Rain, remember Sorrow from His Hotel Novel); as well as wrestling, sex workers, authors and penises (Irving’s throughout).

He is a less interesting character than the female lead promised to be, and the supporting characters, such as students the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are one-dimensional too. There are some amusing set pieces – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a brawl where a few ruffians get beaten with a support and a tire pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has never been a subtle writer, but that is is not the difficulty. He has consistently reiterated his points, hinted at story twists and enabled them to build up in the audience's mind before bringing them to resolution in long, jarring, entertaining scenes. For example, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to disappear: think of the oral part in The Garp Novel, the digit in Owen Meany. Those absences reverberate through the plot. In this novel, a key person is deprived of an limb – but we only learn thirty pages the conclusion.

She comes back in the final part in the novel, but just with a last-minute impression of concluding. We never discover the full account of her life in the region. The book is a letdown from a author who previously gave such delight. That’s the bad news. The good news is that His Classic Novel – revisiting it alongside this book – yet stands up beautifully, after forty years. So pick up the earlier work as an alternative: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but 12 times as enjoyable.