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If some novelists experience an peak phase, in which they hit the summit repeatedly, then U.S. novelist John Irving’s extended through a sequence of four fat, gratifying books, from his late-seventies breakthrough Garp to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. Those were generous, witty, warm books, tying figures he refers to as “misfits” to cultural themes from feminism to abortion.

Following A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been waning outcomes, save in size. His previous book, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages of topics Irving had delved into better in earlier novels (mutism, restricted growth, trans issues), with a lengthy film script in the center to fill it out – as if filler were required.

Thus we look at a latest Irving with care but still a small spark of expectation, which burns stronger when we learn that Queen Esther – a only 432 pages long – “goes back to the universe of The Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties work is among Irving’s top-tier books, set largely in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer Wells.

This novel is a failure from a author who previously gave such delight

In The Cider House Rules, Irving wrote about pregnancy termination and identity with vibrancy, comedy and an total compassion. And it was a significant work because it left behind the subjects that were evolving into tiresome patterns in his novels: wrestling, wild bears, Vienna, the oldest profession.

This book starts in the fictional town of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple welcome young orphan Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a a number of decades ahead of the events of The Cider House Rules, yet the doctor remains identifiable: already using anesthetic, respected by his staff, opening every talk with “In this place...” But his appearance in the book is limited to these initial sections.

The couple fret about parenting Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “how might they help a adolescent girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish migration to the area, where she will join the Haganah, the Jewish nationalist militant group whose “mission was to protect Jewish towns from Arab attacks” and which would subsequently establish the core of the IDF.

These are enormous subjects to tackle, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is hardly about St Cloud's and Dr Larch, it’s even more upsetting that it’s likewise not really concerning Esther. For causes that must relate to story mechanics, Esther turns into a substitute parent for one more of the Winslows’ children, and gives birth to a baby boy, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this book is Jimmy’s tale.

And now is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both regular and specific. Jimmy moves to – where else? – Vienna; there’s discussion of avoiding the draft notice through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a dog with a meaningful title (the dog's name, recall the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, authors and penises (Irving’s recurring).

Jimmy is a more mundane character than Esther promised to be, and the minor players, such as pupils Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are some enjoyable episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a few bullies get beaten with a crutch and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not once been a nuanced novelist, but that is isn't the issue. He has always reiterated his points, telegraphed story twists and allowed them to gather in the reader’s mind before bringing them to resolution in long, shocking, amusing scenes. For example, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to disappear: recall the speech organ in The Garp Novel, the hand part in His Owen Book. Those losses reverberate through the plot. In this novel, a key person suffers the loss of an upper extremity – but we just discover thirty pages before the end.

The protagonist comes back toward the end in the story, but only with a final impression of wrapping things up. We never do find out the complete story of her experiences in the region. This novel is a disappointment from a novelist who previously gave such delight. That’s the negative aspect. The positive note is that Cider House – revisiting it together with this work – yet remains beautifully, 40 years on. So read that instead: it’s double the length as Queen Esther, but far as good.