🔗 Share this article

If certain novelists enjoy an peak era, during which they achieve the heights time after time, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a run of several substantial, gratifying works, from his 1978 hit Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were generous, funny, big-hearted books, connecting figures he describes as “misfits” to societal topics from feminism to reproductive rights.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining results, except in size. His previous book, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages long of topics Irving had delved into more effectively in previous works (selective mutism, dwarfism, transgenderism), with a two-hundred-page screenplay in the middle to pad it out – as if extra material were required.

Therefore we approach a latest Irving with caution but still a small glimmer of expectation, which shines brighter when we find out that Queen Esther – a only 432 pages long – “returns to the setting of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is one of Irving’s finest books, set mostly in an children's home in the town of St Cloud’s, operated by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer Wells.

Queen Esther is a letdown from a writer who in the past gave such delight

In Cider House, Irving wrote about abortion and acceptance with colour, comedy and an all-encompassing understanding. And it was a important work because it left behind the topics that were turning into annoying patterns in his books: wrestling, bears, Austrian capital, sex work.

Queen Esther opens in the fictional town of New Hampshire's Penacook in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt teenage foundling Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a few generations before the events of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch is still identifiable: still using anesthetic, beloved by his nurses, starting every talk with “In this place...” But his appearance in this novel is confined to these initial sections.

The Winslows are concerned about parenting Esther correctly: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how could they help a adolescent girl of Jewish descent discover her identity?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the region, where she will become part of the Haganah, the Zionist militant force whose “mission was to defend Jewish communities from opposition” and which would later establish the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Those are enormous subjects to tackle, but having introduced them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s frustrating that Queen Esther is not actually about St Cloud's and the doctor, it’s all the more disappointing that it’s also not focused on Esther. For causes that must involve plot engineering, Esther turns into a surrogate mother for another of the couple's daughters, and gives birth to a male child, James, in 1941 – and the lion's share of this book is his tale.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions return strongly, both typical and specific. Jimmy relocates to – where else? – the city; there’s discussion of dodging the draft notice through self-harm (Owen Meany); a canine with a significant designation (the dog's name, recall the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as the sport, streetwalkers, writers and penises (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a more mundane persona than the female lead hinted to be, and the minor characters, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s instructor Annelies Eissler, are one-dimensional as well. There are a few enjoyable scenes – Jimmy deflowering; a fight where a handful of bullies get beaten with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not once been a nuanced novelist, but that is is not the issue. He has repeatedly repeated his arguments, hinted at story twists and let them to accumulate in the audience's mind before bringing them to completion in extended, shocking, funny sequences. For example, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to disappear: recall the oral part in Garp, the hand part in His Owen Book. Those missing pieces reverberate through the plot. In the book, a major figure loses an limb – but we just find out 30 pages before the conclusion.

The protagonist comes back toward the end in the book, but merely with a final sense of concluding. We do not do find out the complete narrative of her experiences in Palestine and Israel. Queen Esther is a failure from a author who once gave such pleasure. That’s the bad news. The good news is that Cider House – revisiting it together with this book – still stands up beautifully, 40 years on. So read the earlier work instead: it’s double the length as this book, but 12 times as enjoyable.