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If certain writers have an imperial period, during which they reach the summit consistently, then American novelist John Irving’s lasted through a series of several substantial, rewarding works, from his 1978 hit His Garp Novel to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were expansive, humorous, compassionate novels, tying protagonists he describes as “outliers” to cultural themes from feminism to termination.

After A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been declining outcomes, except in word count. His last book, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages in length of subjects Irving had delved into more skillfully in earlier novels (mutism, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a lengthy screenplay in the middle to extend it – as if filler were required.

Therefore we look at a latest Irving with reservation but still a small flame of optimism, which shines hotter when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a just four hundred thirty-two pages long – “goes back to the world of His Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties book is among Irving’s top-tier books, taking place primarily in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, managed by Dr Larch and his apprentice Homer.

This novel is a disappointment from a novelist who previously gave such delight

In The Cider House Rules, Irving explored termination and acceptance with colour, comedy and an all-encompassing empathy. And it was a significant novel because it moved past the subjects that were becoming repetitive patterns in his books: grappling, wild bears, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

The novel opens in the made-up village of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple welcome teenage orphan the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of years prior to the action of Cider House, yet the doctor remains recognisable: already using the drug, beloved by his nurses, opening every speech with “In this place...” But his role in the book is confined to these initial scenes.

The couple fret about parenting Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a adolescent Jewish girl understand her place?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish exodus to Palestine, where she will become part of the Haganah, the Jewish nationalist militant group whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish communities from opposition” and which would subsequently establish the basis of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Such are massive themes to take on, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that the novel is not actually about the orphanage and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more upsetting that it’s also not about Esther. For causes that must connect to story mechanics, Esther turns into a substitute parent for one more of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a son, Jimmy, in the early forties – and the bulk of this book is Jimmy’s narrative.

And now is where Irving’s fixations return strongly, both typical and particular. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – the Austrian capital; there’s talk of dodging the military conscription through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a symbolic designation (the dog's name, recall the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as grappling, sex workers, novelists and genitalia (Irving’s passim).

He is a duller figure than the female lead promised to be, and the minor players, such as students the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are flat too. There are some enjoyable scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a handful of ruffians get battered with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a subtle author, but that is is not the problem. He has consistently restated his points, hinted at story twists and let them to gather in the viewer's mind before leading them to completion in extended, shocking, funny sequences. For case, in Irving’s books, body parts tend to disappear: recall the oral part in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a central person loses an limb – but we just find out thirty pages later the finish.

The protagonist returns toward the end in the story, but merely with a last-minute feeling of ending the story. We never learn the entire account of her experiences in the region. This novel is a letdown from a author who once gave such joy. That’s the downside. The positive note is that The Cider House Rules – revisiting it alongside this work – yet remains excellently, after forty years. So pick up the earlier work in its place: it’s double the length as the new novel, but a dozen times as good.