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If a few writers experience an imperial phase, during which they hit the heights time after time, then American writer John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four fat, gratifying novels, from his 1978 success Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. These were generous, humorous, compassionate novels, linking figures he describes as “misfits” to cultural themes from gender equality to termination.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining outcomes, save in word count. His most recent book, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages in length of themes Irving had explored better in earlier books (inability to speak, dwarfism, gender identity), with a 200-page screenplay in the heart to pad it out – as if padding were necessary.

Therefore we approach a recent Irving with caution but still a small flame of optimism, which burns brighter when we find out that Queen Esther – a only 432 pages long – “revisits the world of The Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties novel is one of Irving’s top-tier books, taking place largely in an children's home in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Wells.

The book is a disappointment from a writer who previously gave such pleasure

In The Cider House Rules, Irving wrote about termination and acceptance with vibrancy, comedy and an comprehensive understanding. And it was a major novel because it left behind the themes that were becoming tiresome habits in his books: grappling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, prostitution.

This book starts in the imaginary community of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow take in 14-year-old ward the protagonist from the orphanage. We are a few years prior to the events of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch stays recognisable: already using anesthetic, beloved by his nurses, opening every speech with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his appearance in Queen Esther is confined to these initial parts.

The family worry about bringing up Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how could they help a young Jewish girl understand her place?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be a member of the Jewish emigration to the region, where she will enter Haganah, the pro-Zionist paramilitary group whose “purpose was to protect Jewish communities from Arab attacks” and which would later form the foundation of the IDF.

Those are massive subjects to take on, but having presented them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that the novel is hardly about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s even more disheartening that it’s additionally not focused on the main character. For causes that must connect to plot engineering, Esther turns into a surrogate mother for a different of the family's offspring, and delivers to a son, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the majority of this story is the boy's tale.

And here is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both common and distinct. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – the city; there’s discussion of avoiding the military conscription through self-mutilation (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a pet with a meaningful name (the dog's name, remember the canine from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s recurring).

The character is a more mundane persona than the heroine promised to be, and the minor players, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s instructor the tutor, are one-dimensional also. There are a few enjoyable episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a couple of thugs get beaten with a walking aid and a bicycle pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not once been a subtle writer, but that is not the issue. He has repeatedly repeated his points, telegraphed narrative turns and allowed them to build up in the reader’s mind before leading them to fruition in long, shocking, funny moments. For instance, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to be lost: remember the oral part in The Garp Novel, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces resonate through the story. In the book, a major person is deprived of an limb – but we merely learn thirty pages the finish.

Esther reappears late in the story, but just with a last-minute sense of concluding. We do not learn the entire story of her time in Palestine and Israel. Queen Esther is a letdown from a author who previously gave such pleasure. That’s the bad news. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading together with this novel – still stands up beautifully, 40 years on. So read the earlier work instead: it’s double the length as this book, but far as great.