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If some authors experience an peak era, in which they hit the summit repeatedly, then U.S. writer John Irving’s lasted through a series of four long, gratifying novels, from his 1978 success Garp to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. Such were expansive, funny, big-hearted works, tying protagonists he describes as “misfits” to societal topics from gender equality to abortion.

Since Owen Meany, it’s been waning returns, save in size. His previous book, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages long of themes Irving had examined more skillfully in prior books (mutism, short stature, trans issues), with a lengthy screenplay in the heart to extend it – as if padding were necessary.

So we look at a recent Irving with care but still a faint glimmer of optimism, which shines hotter when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a just four hundred thirty-two pages – “goes back to the world of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 book is part of Irving’s top-tier books, set largely in an orphanage in the town of St Cloud’s, managed by Dr Larch and his protege Wells.

This novel is a disappointment from a writer who in the past gave such pleasure

In His Cider House Novel, Irving discussed abortion and belonging with vibrancy, comedy and an comprehensive empathy. And it was a major work because it moved past the themes that were turning into tiresome habits in his novels: grappling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, prostitution.

The novel starts in the made-up village of Penacook, New Hampshire in the twentieth century's dawn, where Thomas and Constance Winslow take in teenage ward the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of generations ahead of the storyline of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch is still identifiable: still using anesthetic, respected by his staff, beginning every speech with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in this novel is confined to these early scenes.

The couple are concerned about bringing up Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “how might they help a teenage Jewish female understand her place?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s adulthood in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will become part of Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant force whose “mission was to defend Jewish towns from opposition” and which would eventually establish the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are enormous themes to address, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is hardly about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s still more disheartening that it’s also not about the main character. For motivations that must connect to narrative construction, Esther becomes a substitute parent for another of the couple's daughters, and delivers to a male child, the boy, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this story is the boy's story.

And at this point is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both typical and distinct. Jimmy moves to – naturally – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of evading the Vietnam draft through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a meaningful name (the dog's name, meet Sorrow from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, authors and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

Jimmy is a duller character than Esther hinted to be, and the secondary characters, such as students the two students, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are one-dimensional also. There are some nice set pieces – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a fight where a handful of bullies get assaulted with a support and a air pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has never been a subtle author, but that is isn't the problem. He has always repeated his ideas, telegraphed narrative turns and let them to gather in the audience's imagination before bringing them to completion in lengthy, surprising, entertaining sequences. For instance, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to be lost: remember the tongue in Garp, the finger in His Owen Book. Those losses echo through the plot. In this novel, a key character loses an arm – but we just discover thirty pages later the end.

Esther reappears in the final part in the book, but just with a eleventh-hour sense of concluding. We never learn the full account of her life in the Middle East. The book is a letdown from a novelist who once gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The positive note is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading in parallel to this novel – even now stands up beautifully, after forty years. So pick up that as an alternative: it’s much longer as the new novel, but 12 times as great.