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If some novelists enjoy an peak phase, during which they reach the heights consistently, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a series of four long, satisfying books, from his 1978 hit The World According to Garp to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. Those were rich, witty, warm novels, connecting figures he describes as “misfits” to societal topics from women's rights to reproductive rights.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning results, save in word count. His last novel, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages in length of subjects Irving had delved into better in earlier novels (selective mutism, short stature, transgenderism), with a 200-page script in the center to pad it out – as if filler were necessary.

Therefore we look at a recent Irving with reservation but still a faint spark of expectation, which burns hotter when we learn that His Queen Esther Novel – a only four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “returns to the universe of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties book is among Irving’s finest novels, located primarily in an orphanage in Maine's St Cloud’s, managed by Dr Wilbur Larch and his protege Wells.

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

In The Cider House Rules, Irving explored termination and acceptance with richness, wit and an all-encompassing empathy. And it was a major book because it moved past the subjects that were evolving into repetitive patterns in his novels: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, Vienna, the oldest profession.

This book opens in the imaginary village of Penacook, New Hampshire in the early 20th century, where Thomas and Constance Winslow adopt 14-year-old foundling the protagonist from the orphanage. We are a few years prior to the events of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch is still recognisable: still using ether, adored by his caregivers, beginning every address with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his appearance in Queen Esther is restricted to these opening sections.

The Winslows are concerned about bringing up Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “how might they help a teenage girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To address that, we flash forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the 1920s. She will be a member of the Jewish emigration to the region, where she will enter Haganah, the Zionist militant group whose “mission was to defend Jewish towns from opposition” and which would subsequently become the core of the Israel's military.

Such are huge topics to take on, but having presented them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is not really about the orphanage and Wilbur Larch, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s likewise not about the main character. For reasons that must relate to story mechanics, Esther becomes a surrogate mother for one more of the couple's offspring, and gives birth to a son, the boy, in World War II era – and the majority of this novel is the boy's narrative.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions reappear loudly, both typical and specific. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – Vienna; there’s mention of dodging the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a dog with a significant name (the animal, meet the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a less interesting persona than the heroine suggested to be, and the minor players, such as pupils the pair, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are one-dimensional also. There are several amusing episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a handful of bullies get assaulted with a support and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not once been a subtle writer, but that is isn't the problem. He has always restated his arguments, telegraphed narrative turns and let them to gather in the reader’s thoughts before bringing them to fruition in long, shocking, amusing moments. For instance, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to go missing: think of the tongue in Garp, the hand part in Owen Meany. Those losses resonate through the narrative. In this novel, a central figure loses an upper extremity – but we merely learn 30 pages later the end.

Esther reappears toward the end in the novel, but just with a eleventh-hour sense of ending the story. We do not learn the entire story of her experiences in the region. This novel is a disappointment from a writer who previously gave such pleasure. That’s the downside. The positive note is that Cider House – upon rereading together with this novel – still stands up excellently, 40 years on. So read it as an alternative: it’s double the length as this book, but a dozen times as enjoyable.