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If some novelists have an golden period, where they achieve the pinnacle consistently, then American writer John Irving’s ran through a run of four substantial, rewarding works, from his 1978 success His Garp Novel to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. Such were generous, witty, warm works, linking figures he calls “outliers” to societal topics from gender equality to termination.

Following A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been waning results, aside from in page length. His most recent work, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages in length of topics Irving had examined better in prior works (selective mutism, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a two-hundred-page script in the center to fill it out – as if extra material were necessary.

So we come to a recent Irving with reservation but still a faint glimmer of optimism, which glows hotter when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a only 432 pages in length – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s finest works, set largely in an orphanage in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Wells.

This novel is a letdown from a writer who previously gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving discussed termination and acceptance with vibrancy, humor and an all-encompassing compassion. And it was a significant book because it moved past the subjects that were turning into annoying habits in his novels: wrestling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, sex work.

Queen Esther starts in the fictional town of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple adopt young foundling the title character from the orphanage. We are a several years ahead of the action of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch remains familiar: even then addicted to ether, adored by his staff, beginning every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in Queen Esther is restricted to these early sections.

The Winslows worry about raising Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a teenage 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 Palestine, where she will enter the Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant force whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would subsequently form the core of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Such are enormous topics to address, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s disappointing that the novel is not actually about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more disheartening that it’s also not focused on the titular figure. For motivations that must involve story mechanics, Esther becomes a gestational carrier for a different of the couple's offspring, and delivers to a male child, James, in 1941 – and the majority of this novel is his story.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both common and specific. Jimmy moves to – where else? – the city; there’s discussion of evading the military conscription through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a canine with a meaningful title (Hard Rain, recall the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, sex workers, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s passim).

The character is a duller persona than the heroine hinted to be, and the minor characters, such as students the pair, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are flat too. There are some amusing set pieces – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a few bullies get battered with a crutch and a air pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a nuanced novelist, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has repeatedly restated his points, foreshadowed plot developments and enabled them to build up in the reader’s mind before bringing them to completion in long, jarring, amusing scenes. For example, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to go missing: recall the speech organ in Garp, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces echo through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a central person is deprived of an upper extremity – but we only learn thirty pages the conclusion.

Esther comes back late in the story, but just with a eleventh-hour impression of wrapping things up. We not once do find out the entire account of her experiences in the region. This novel is a failure from a writer who once gave such pleasure. That’s the downside. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading alongside this book – yet remains wonderfully, after forty years. So pick up that as an alternative: it’s double the length as the new novel, but a dozen times as enjoyable.