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If some writers enjoy an imperial era, in which they hit the pinnacle consistently, then American author John Irving’s extended through a series of four long, satisfying novels, from his 1978 hit Garp to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. These were generous, funny, big-hearted works, connecting protagonists he refers to as “outsiders” to cultural themes from women's rights to abortion.

Following Owen Meany, it’s been declining outcomes, aside from in page length. His previous work, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages long of subjects Irving had examined better in earlier books (inability to speak, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a lengthy script in the center to pad it out – as if extra material were needed.

So we look at a recent Irving with reservation but still a tiny spark of optimism, which shines hotter when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages long – “revisits the universe of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties book is among Irving’s finest books, set largely in an institution in Maine's St Cloud’s, operated by Wilbur Larch and his protege Wells.

Queen Esther is a disappointment from a writer who previously gave such joy

In His Cider House Novel, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and acceptance with richness, humor and an total compassion. And it was a major work because it abandoned the subjects that were turning into annoying tics in his books: wrestling, ursine creatures, Vienna, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther starts in the imaginary town of Penacook, New Hampshire in the beginning of the 1900s, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome 14-year-old orphan the title character from St Cloud’s. We are a few decades before the storyline of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch remains identifiable: still using ether, respected by his staff, starting every address with “In this place...” But his appearance in this novel is restricted to these initial sections.

The family worry about parenting Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a young girl of Jewish descent find herself?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the Roaring Twenties. She will be part of the Jewish migration to the area, where she will join the Haganah, the Zionist paramilitary organisation whose “purpose was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would eventually become the core of the Israel's military.

These are huge topics to address, but having presented them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not really about St Cloud’s and the doctor, it’s all the more upsetting that it’s likewise not about the titular figure. For motivations that must connect to story mechanics, Esther becomes a substitute parent for a different of the family's children, and bears to a baby boy, the boy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this novel is Jimmy’s tale.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions come roaring back, both common and particular. Jimmy goes to – of course – the city; there’s mention of avoiding the draft notice through self-mutilation (Owen Meany); a canine with a significant designation (the animal, meet Sorrow from His Hotel Novel); as well as the sport, sex workers, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a duller persona than the female lead promised to be, and the secondary characters, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s instructor the tutor, are underdeveloped too. There are several enjoyable episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a few thugs get beaten with a walking aid and a tire pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a subtle author, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has always repeated his points, hinted at narrative turns and let them to gather in the viewer's thoughts before bringing them to resolution in extended, shocking, funny sequences. For case, in Irving’s works, anatomical features tend to be lost: remember the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those absences reverberate through the story. In the book, a major person loses an arm – but we merely discover thirty pages before the end.

The protagonist comes back late in the novel, but only with a eleventh-hour sense of ending the story. We do not do find out the full account of her life in the Middle East. The book is a disappointment from a novelist who once gave such pleasure. That’s the downside. The positive note is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading alongside this work – still holds up excellently, four decades later. So choose that instead: it’s double the length as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as enjoyable.