🔗 Share this article

If certain authors enjoy an golden phase, in which they hit the summit consistently, then American author John Irving’s ran through a run of several substantial, gratifying works, from his late-seventies hit Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were generous, humorous, warm books, linking characters he refers to as “outsiders” to societal topics from women's rights to reproductive rights.

Following A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been diminishing results, save in size. His last work, 2022’s His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages long of subjects Irving had examined better in earlier novels (mutism, restricted growth, transgenderism), with a lengthy film script in the heart to extend it – as if padding were necessary.

Therefore we look at a new Irving with care but still a small spark of hope, which shines stronger when we find out that His Queen Esther Novel – a just four hundred thirty-two pages long – “returns to the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 work is part of Irving’s top-tier works, taking place mostly in an orphanage in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Wilbur Larch and his assistant Wells.

Queen Esther is a letdown from a writer who previously gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving wrote about pregnancy termination and identity with colour, wit and an total compassion. And it was a significant book because it moved past the themes that were becoming repetitive habits in his books: wrestling, wild bears, Vienna, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther starts in the imaginary village of New Hampshire's Penacook in the beginning of the 1900s, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow welcome young foundling the title character from St Cloud’s. We are a several years ahead of the action of The Cider House Rules, yet the doctor remains recognisable: even then using the drug, respected by his staff, beginning every talk with “In this place...” But his appearance in the book is limited to these opening parts.

The family fret about raising Esther correctly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how could they help a young Jewish female find herself?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the twenties era. She will be part of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will join the paramilitary group, the pro-Zionist armed group whose “purpose was to defend Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would later establish the foundation of the Israel's military.

Such are massive subjects to address, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s disappointing that this book is hardly about the orphanage and the doctor, it’s all the more disheartening that it’s likewise not really concerning the titular figure. For reasons that must relate to plot engineering, Esther becomes a gestational carrier for another of the Winslows’ daughters, and bears to a baby boy, Jimmy, in the early forties – and the bulk of this story is Jimmy’s story.

And now is where Irving’s fixations come roaring back, both typical and particular. Jimmy moves to – naturally – the Austrian capital; there’s talk of dodging the draft notice through self-harm (His Earlier Book); a pet with a symbolic name (Hard Rain, remember Sorrow from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as the sport, prostitutes, authors and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a duller figure than the female lead suggested to be, and the minor figures, such as pupils Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are several nice scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a couple of ruffians get beaten with a crutch and a bicycle pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has never been a delicate writer, but that is is not the difficulty. He has repeatedly repeated his arguments, telegraphed story twists and enabled them to gather in the reader’s imagination before leading them to resolution in lengthy, surprising, amusing scenes. For instance, in Irving’s books, body parts tend to go missing: remember the tongue in The Garp Novel, the finger in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces echo through the plot. In the book, a central person loses an upper extremity – but we merely discover 30 pages before the conclusion.

The protagonist reappears late in the book, but only with a final impression of wrapping things up. We never discover the full narrative of her experiences in the Middle East. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a author who once gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that Cider House – revisiting it alongside this book – yet remains beautifully, four decades later. So read that as an alternative: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but far as great.