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If a few authors enjoy an imperial phase, in which they achieve the heights consistently, then U.S. writer John Irving’s lasted through a sequence of several substantial, gratifying books, from his 1978 hit The World According to Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. Such were generous, funny, compassionate books, connecting figures he describes as “misfits” to cultural themes from women's rights to reproductive rights.

After Owen Meany, it’s been declining results, except in page length. His previous novel, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages in length of themes Irving had delved into better in earlier works (inability to speak, dwarfism, trans issues), with a 200-page screenplay in the heart to extend it – as if filler were necessary.

Therefore we look at a latest Irving with caution but still a tiny glimmer of optimism, which shines hotter when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages – “goes back to the world of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties novel is part of Irving’s top-tier novels, located largely in an orphanage in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Dr Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

This novel is a letdown from a author who previously gave such pleasure

In Cider House, Irving discussed abortion and acceptance with colour, wit and an all-encompassing compassion. And it was a significant book because it left behind the themes that were turning into repetitive patterns in his novels: wrestling, ursine creatures, Vienna, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther opens in the imaginary town of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple take in 14-year-old orphan the protagonist from the orphanage. We are a a number of years ahead of the action of His Earlier Novel, yet Dr Larch remains familiar: even then using ether, beloved by his staff, opening every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his presence in this novel is limited to these initial parts.

The family fret about bringing up Esther properly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how might they help a young girl of Jewish descent understand her place?” To address that, we flash forward to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish migration to Palestine, where she will become part of the paramilitary group, the Jewish nationalist militant group whose “purpose was to safeguard Jewish communities from opposition” and which would subsequently establish the core of the IDF.

These are huge topics to address, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is not really about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more disheartening that it’s additionally not focused on Esther. For reasons that must relate to plot engineering, Esther turns into a substitute parent for a different of the Winslows’ children, and delivers to a son, the boy, in World War II era – and the bulk of this story is the boy's narrative.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions reappear loudly, both common and specific. Jimmy goes to – naturally – Vienna; there’s discussion of dodging the draft notice through self-mutilation (His Earlier Book); a pet with a significant name (the animal, remember Sorrow from His Hotel Novel); as well as grappling, sex workers, authors and penises (Irving’s throughout).

He is a more mundane persona than the female lead suggested to be, and the supporting characters, such as young people the two students, and Jimmy’s instructor Annelies Eissler, are flat too. There are several amusing scenes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a fight where a few bullies get beaten with a walking aid and a air pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has never been a nuanced writer, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has repeatedly reiterated his points, telegraphed plot developments and enabled them to gather in the reader’s thoughts before taking them to completion in extended, surprising, amusing scenes. For case, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to disappear: remember the tongue in Garp, the finger in His Owen Book. Those missing pieces resonate through the narrative. In this novel, a central character loses an limb – but we just find out thirty pages before the conclusion.

The protagonist returns in the final part in the book, but just with a last-minute sense of wrapping things up. We not once learn the complete story of her time in the region. The book is a failure from a novelist who in the past gave such joy. That’s the bad news. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading together with this book – yet remains wonderfully, 40 years on. So pick up that instead: it’s much longer as Queen Esther, but 12 times as enjoyable.