🔗 Share this article

If certain authors enjoy an golden period, in which they hit the heights time after time, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a run of four substantial, rewarding books, from his late-seventies success Garp to the 1989 release His Owen Meany Book. Those were generous, witty, big-hearted books, tying figures he refers to as “misfits” to societal topics from gender equality to abortion.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining outcomes, aside from in size. His most recent book, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was 900 pages in length of topics Irving had explored more effectively in previous works (inability to speak, restricted growth, gender identity), with a lengthy script in the heart to extend it – as if padding were required.

Therefore we come to a new Irving with caution but still a small spark of expectation, which shines stronger when we discover that Queen Esther – a only four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “goes back to the universe of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties book is part of Irving’s very best novels, located largely in an orphanage in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Wells.

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

In Cider House, Irving discussed pregnancy termination and identity with colour, humor and an comprehensive compassion. And it was a significant novel because it moved past the subjects that were turning into annoying tics in his books: wrestling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, prostitution.

This book begins in the imaginary community of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple welcome young orphan Esther from the orphanage. We are a several years prior to the storyline of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch is still familiar: still dependent on ether, respected by his staff, starting every speech with “In this place...” But his role in Queen Esther is restricted to these early scenes.

The couple are concerned about parenting Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “how might they help a adolescent Jewish girl discover her identity?” To tackle that, we flash forward to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be part of the Jewish emigration to the region, where she will join the Haganah, the Jewish nationalist militant organisation whose “mission was to defend Jewish communities from opposition” and which would subsequently establish the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are huge themes to address, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s regrettable that the novel is not really about St Cloud’s and Dr Larch, it’s all the more disappointing that it’s likewise not really concerning Esther. For motivations that must involve plot engineering, Esther becomes a surrogate mother for another of the couple's offspring, and delivers to a baby boy, the boy, in World War II era – and the majority of this story is Jimmy’s narrative.

And now is where Irving’s preoccupations return strongly, both regular and distinct. Jimmy moves to – of course – Vienna; there’s talk of evading the Vietnam draft through self-harm (His Earlier Book); a canine with a significant title (the dog's name, recall the canine from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, sex workers, novelists and genitalia (Irving’s passim).

The character is a duller character than the heroine promised to be, and the supporting characters, such as pupils the pair, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are underdeveloped also. There are several enjoyable episodes – Jimmy deflowering; a confrontation where a few bullies get battered with a walking aid and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has never been a delicate writer, but that is not the issue. He has repeatedly reiterated his ideas, telegraphed story twists and enabled them to accumulate in the reader’s thoughts before leading them to completion in long, surprising, entertaining moments. For instance, in Irving’s novels, anatomical features tend to be lost: think of the speech organ in Garp, the digit in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the plot. In Queen Esther, a key character loses an arm – but we merely learn thirty pages the finish.

The protagonist comes back in the final part in the book, but merely with a eleventh-hour sense of ending the story. We never discover the complete narrative of her life in the Middle East. The book is a failure from a author who in the past gave such joy. That’s the bad news. The good news is that Cider House – revisiting it in parallel to this book – still holds up wonderfully, 40 years on. So pick up it instead: it’s double the length as the new novel, but a dozen times as enjoyable.