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If some writers have an imperial phase, during which they hit the heights consistently, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a sequence of four long, satisfying novels, from his 1978 breakthrough Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. These were generous, witty, warm novels, tying protagonists he describes as “outliers” to societal topics from feminism to abortion.

After His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining returns, aside from in size. His last novel, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages long of subjects Irving had explored more skillfully in previous works (mutism, short stature, trans issues), with a two-hundred-page film script in the center to fill it out – as if extra material were required.

Therefore we come to a new Irving with care but still a small spark of expectation, which burns brighter when we discover that Queen Esther – a just four hundred thirty-two pages – “returns to the world of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties work is part of Irving’s top-tier books, taking place largely in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Larch and his assistant Homer.

The book is a disappointment from a novelist who in the past gave such joy

In His Cider House Novel, Irving explored abortion and identity with colour, comedy and an all-encompassing empathy. And it was a important novel because it abandoned the topics that were becoming repetitive tics in his works: the sport of wrestling, bears, Vienna, prostitution.

This book starts in the fictional community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the beginning of the 1900s, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt teenage orphan the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a few generations before the events of Cider House, yet Wilbur Larch stays recognisable: still addicted to the drug, adored by his caregivers, beginning every address with “In this place...” But his presence in this novel is limited to these opening sections.

The family worry about raising Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a adolescent Jewish girl discover her identity?” To address that, we flash forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to the area, where she will become part of Haganah, the pro-Zionist armed organisation whose “mission was to protect Jewish towns from opposition” and which would later establish the basis of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are huge themes to address, but having introduced them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is not actually about the orphanage and Wilbur Larch, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s also not really concerning the main character. For causes that must connect to plot engineering, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for one more of the family's daughters, and bears to a son, James, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this book is his narrative.

And here is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both regular and distinct. Jimmy goes to – of course – Vienna; there’s discussion of avoiding the draft notice through bodily injury (His Earlier Book); a pet with a meaningful title (Hard Rain, remember the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, sex workers, writers and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a duller figure than the female lead suggested to be, and the supporting characters, such as students the two students, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are one-dimensional as well. There are several amusing scenes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a fight where a few thugs get battered with a walking aid and a tire pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a delicate novelist, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has always restated his points, foreshadowed narrative turns and enabled them to gather in the reader’s mind before leading them to resolution in extended, surprising, amusing scenes. For example, in Irving’s works, body parts tend to disappear: recall the speech organ in The Garp Novel, the digit in Owen Meany. Those absences resonate through the narrative. In this novel, a key person is deprived of an limb – but we just discover 30 pages later the finish.

She reappears toward the end in the story, but just with a final feeling of concluding. We not once do find out the entire narrative of her life in the region. The book is a letdown from a writer who in the past gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The positive note is that Cider House – I reread it alongside this novel – still stands up excellently, four decades later. So choose that as an alternative: it’s twice as long as this book, but far as good.