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If certain writers enjoy an peak era, where they hit the summit consistently, then American writer John Irving’s lasted through a run of several substantial, gratifying novels, from his 1978 breakthrough The World According to Garp to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. These were expansive, witty, big-hearted books, connecting characters he calls “outliers” to societal topics from women's rights to abortion.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining returns, save in word count. His previous book, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages in length of topics Irving had delved into more effectively in earlier works (inability to speak, dwarfism, trans issues), with a 200-page film script in the heart to pad it out – as if filler were required.

So we approach a new Irving with reservation but still a faint flame of hope, which glows brighter when we find out that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “goes back to the setting of His Cider House Rules”. That 1985 work is one of Irving’s top-tier works, taking place largely in an orphanage in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

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

In The Cider House Rules, Irving explored pregnancy termination and belonging with colour, comedy and an total understanding. And it was a important work because it moved past the subjects that were turning into tiresome habits in his books: wrestling, wild bears, Vienna, sex work.

Queen Esther starts in the made-up town of Penacook, New Hampshire in the twentieth century's dawn, where the Winslow couple welcome 14-year-old ward the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a several generations prior to the events of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch is still recognisable: even then addicted to anesthetic, adored by his caregivers, opening every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his role in this novel is limited to these initial scenes.

The family worry about raising Esther properly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “in what way could they help a young Jewish girl understand her place?” To address that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish migration to the region, where she will become part of the Haganah, the Zionist armed group whose “mission was to protect Jewish settlements from Arab attacks” and which would eventually become the core of the IDF.

These are enormous subjects to tackle, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is hardly about St Cloud's and Wilbur Larch, it’s all the more upsetting that it’s additionally not about the titular figure. For causes that must involve plot engineering, Esther becomes a substitute parent for one more of the Winslows’ offspring, and delivers to a baby boy, James, in World War II era – and the bulk of this novel is his tale.

And here is where Irving’s preoccupations reappear loudly, both common and distinct. Jimmy goes to – naturally – the city; there’s mention of avoiding the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a symbolic title (the animal, remember the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, streetwalkers, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a less interesting persona than the heroine suggested to be, and the secondary characters, such as pupils Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are flat too. There are several enjoyable scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a few bullies get assaulted with a support and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a delicate author, but that is isn't the problem. He has consistently reiterated his arguments, foreshadowed story twists and let them to gather in the audience's mind before bringing them to resolution in long, shocking, amusing sequences. For instance, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to disappear: think of the speech organ in Garp, the digit in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces reverberate through the story. In Queen Esther, a major person suffers the loss of an limb – but we just find out 30 pages later the end.

Esther comes back late in the book, but just with a eleventh-hour sense of wrapping things up. We do not discover the full account of her time in the Middle East. Queen Esther is a letdown from a novelist who once gave such joy. That’s the downside. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading in parallel to this novel – still remains excellently, after forty years. So read that in its place: it’s twice as long as this book, but 12 times as good.