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If certain writers experience an golden era, in which they reach the heights consistently, then American writer John Irving’s lasted through a series of several fat, satisfying works, from his late-seventies breakthrough The World According to Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. These were generous, witty, compassionate novels, tying protagonists he refers to as “outsiders” to societal topics from feminism to abortion.

After Owen Meany, it’s been declining returns, aside from in page length. His last book, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages of subjects Irving had explored more skillfully in previous books (selective mutism, dwarfism, trans issues), with a two-hundred-page film script in the heart to fill it out – as if padding were required.

So we come to a latest Irving with caution but still a small spark of hope, which shines brighter when we learn that Queen Esther – a only 432 pages long – “revisits the world of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 work is among Irving’s very best novels, located primarily in an children's home in Maine's St Cloud’s, run by Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer Wells.

This novel is a letdown from a novelist who in the past gave such delight

In His Cider House Novel, Irving discussed abortion and identity with colour, wit and an comprehensive understanding. And it was a important book because it left behind the topics that were evolving into tiresome patterns in his books: the sport of wrestling, wild bears, Austrian capital, sex work.

Queen Esther opens in the made-up community of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where Thomas and Constance Winslow take in young orphan the protagonist from St Cloud's home. We are a few years ahead of the events of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch remains recognisable: still using anesthetic, beloved by his caregivers, opening every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his appearance in Queen Esther is limited to these early parts.

The family are concerned about bringing up Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a young Jewish female discover her identity?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish migration to the area, where she will become part of Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant group whose “purpose was to defend Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would subsequently form the basis of the Israel's military.

These are enormous themes to address, but having presented them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s frustrating that the novel is not actually about St Cloud’s and the doctor, it’s still more disheartening that it’s likewise not focused on the main character. For motivations that must involve story mechanics, Esther becomes a substitute parent for one more of the couple's offspring, and delivers to a male child, the boy, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this story is Jimmy’s narrative.

And at this point is where Irving’s obsessions reappear loudly, both typical and specific. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – Vienna; there’s mention of avoiding the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a symbolic designation (the dog's name, recall Sorrow from Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, prostitutes, authors and penises (Irving’s passim).

Jimmy is a duller character than Esther suggested to be, and the minor players, such as students Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are some enjoyable scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a confrontation where a couple of bullies get battered with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not once been a nuanced writer, but that is not the issue. He has repeatedly restated his points, telegraphed plot developments and allowed them to gather in the viewer's imagination before taking them to fruition in long, shocking, entertaining sequences. For instance, in Irving’s works, anatomical features tend to go missing: recall the speech organ in The Garp Novel, the finger in Owen Meany. Those absences resonate through the narrative. In the book, a central person suffers the loss of an upper extremity – but we just discover 30 pages before the conclusion.

Esther comes back late in the book, but merely with a final impression of ending the story. We not once discover the full account of her time in the region. This novel is a failure from a novelist who once gave such joy. That’s the bad news. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – revisiting it in parallel to this work – yet remains beautifully, 40 years on. So pick up the earlier work instead: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but 12 times as good.