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If a few authors have an imperial period, in which they hit the pinnacle time after time, then U.S. author John Irving’s extended through a sequence of four fat, gratifying works, from his late-seventies breakthrough Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were expansive, humorous, big-hearted books, connecting characters he refers to as “outsiders” to social issues from gender equality to reproductive rights.

Since Owen Meany, it’s been diminishing results, except in size. His most recent book, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages in length of themes Irving had delved into better in previous books (inability to speak, dwarfism, trans issues), with a 200-page screenplay in the center to fill it out – as if padding were necessary.

Thus we approach a latest Irving with care but still a tiny flame of optimism, which shines hotter when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a mere 432 pages long – “returns to the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is part of Irving’s finest novels, located largely in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his protege Wells.

Queen Esther is a disappointment from a novelist who previously gave such pleasure

In The Cider House Rules, Irving discussed termination and identity with richness, comedy and an all-encompassing understanding. And it was a significant work because it moved past the themes that were evolving into repetitive habits in his books: grappling, bears, Austrian capital, the oldest profession.

The novel begins in the fictional village of New Hampshire's Penacook in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple adopt young foundling the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a few years ahead of the action of Cider House, yet the doctor is still recognisable: still addicted to anesthetic, respected by his nurses, opening every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his appearance in Queen Esther is limited to these opening sections.

The couple fret about raising Esther correctly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish girl discover her identity?” To answer that, we flash forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish emigration to Palestine, where she will become part of the paramilitary group, the pro-Zionist militant organisation whose “mission was to safeguard Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would subsequently become the foundation of the IDF.

Those are enormous subjects to take on, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s regrettable that this book is not really about the orphanage and the doctor, it’s even more upsetting that it’s additionally not focused on the titular figure. For causes that must relate to story mechanics, Esther ends up as a surrogate mother for another of the Winslows’ daughters, and gives birth to a baby boy, the boy, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this story is Jimmy’s tale.

And at this point is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both common and particular. Jimmy goes to – of course – Vienna; there’s mention of evading the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a pet with a significant designation (the dog's name, remember Sorrow from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, sex workers, authors and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

He is a duller character than Esther suggested to be, and the secondary players, such as young people the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are several enjoyable scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a couple of ruffians get beaten with a support and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has never been a delicate writer, but that is not the problem. He has repeatedly restated his points, foreshadowed story twists and enabled them to accumulate in the viewer's thoughts before leading them to fruition in lengthy, surprising, entertaining sequences. For instance, in Irving’s works, physical elements tend to be lost: remember the oral part in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces reverberate through the story. In Queen Esther, a central character suffers the loss of an limb – but we only discover 30 pages later the finish.

The protagonist returns in the final part in the novel, but only with a eleventh-hour sense of ending the story. We do not learn the full account of her experiences in Palestine and Israel. Queen Esther is a failure from a writer who once gave such delight. That’s the bad news. The positive note is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading in parallel to this novel – still stands up beautifully, four decades later. So read the earlier work as an alternative: it’s double the length as Queen Esther, but a dozen times as great.