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If certain novelists have an peak era, in which they achieve the summit time after time, then American writer John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four substantial, rewarding novels, from his 1978 success His Garp Novel to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were rich, funny, big-hearted novels, tying figures he describes as “outliers” to cultural themes from gender equality to abortion.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining outcomes, except in size. His most recent book, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages long of subjects Irving had examined better in earlier novels (selective mutism, restricted growth, trans issues), with a 200-page script in the center to fill it out – as if filler were needed.

Thus we approach a new Irving with caution but still a faint spark of expectation, which shines brighter when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a mere 432 pages long – “goes back to the world of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 novel is among Irving’s top-tier novels, set largely in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

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

In His Cider House Novel, Irving explored pregnancy termination and identity with colour, humor and an total understanding. And it was a major novel because it abandoned the themes that were turning into tiresome habits in his works: grappling, bears, Vienna, sex work.

The novel begins in the fictional community of New Hampshire's Penacook in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple take in teenage foundling Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a few decades prior to the events of Cider House, yet Wilbur Larch stays identifiable: still addicted to ether, adored by his caregivers, starting every speech with “In this place...” But his presence in Queen Esther is limited to these opening sections.

The family fret about raising Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a teenage girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To tackle that, we jump ahead to Esther’s adulthood in the Roaring Twenties. She will be part of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will become part of Haganah, the Jewish nationalist militant organisation whose “mission was to safeguard Jewish communities from opposition” and which would eventually become the foundation of the Israel's military.

Those are massive subjects to address, but having brought in them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is not actually about St Cloud's and the doctor, it’s still more upsetting that it’s likewise not about Esther. For reasons that must relate to narrative construction, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for a different of the Winslows’ daughters, and gives birth to a baby boy, James, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this novel is his narrative.

And now is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both typical and particular. Jimmy moves to – naturally – Vienna; there’s talk of evading the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a pet with a symbolic designation (the dog's name, meet the canine from His Hotel Novel); as well as grappling, streetwalkers, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a duller figure than Esther hinted to be, and the minor players, such as pupils the pair, and Jimmy’s instructor the tutor, are underdeveloped too. There are several enjoyable scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a fight where a couple of bullies get battered with a crutch and a bicycle pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has never been a nuanced novelist, but that is is not the issue. He has consistently reiterated his arguments, telegraphed plot developments and enabled them to accumulate in the viewer's mind before taking them to resolution in long, jarring, funny sequences. For case, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to disappear: recall the oral part in Garp, the hand part in His Owen Book. Those absences reverberate through the story. In this novel, a central person suffers the loss of an arm – but we just find out 30 pages later the end.

The protagonist returns late in the story, but only with a last-minute impression of ending the story. We never learn the entire account of her life in Palestine and Israel. The book is a disappointment from a author who once gave such joy. That’s the downside. The upside is that Cider House – upon rereading together with this book – still stands up wonderfully, four decades later. So pick up that as an alternative: it’s double the length as the new novel, but a dozen times as great.