Queen Esther by John Irving Review – A Disappointing Companion to The Cider House Rules

If some authors experience an imperial phase, during which they achieve the pinnacle repeatedly, then U.S. author John Irving’s ran through a series of several fat, satisfying works, from his late-seventies success The World According to Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. Such were rich, humorous, compassionate works, tying figures he refers to as “misfits” to societal topics from feminism to reproductive rights.

Following Owen Meany, it’s been declining results, save in word count. His previous work, 2022’s The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages of topics Irving had delved into better in previous novels (selective mutism, dwarfism, trans issues), with a 200-page screenplay in the middle to extend it – as if extra material were necessary.

So we come to a latest Irving with care but still a faint spark of expectation, which burns hotter when we discover that His Queen Esther Novel – a only 432 pages long – “goes back to the universe of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 novel is among Irving’s very best works, located largely in an orphanage in the town of St Cloud’s, managed by Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Wells.

The book is a letdown from a novelist who once gave such joy

In The Cider House Rules, Irving discussed termination and identity with colour, wit and an total compassion. And it was a major work because it left behind the themes that were turning into annoying patterns in his novels: wrestling, ursine creatures, Vienna, sex work.

Queen Esther starts in the made-up village of the Penacook area in the twentieth century's dawn, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt 14-year-old ward the protagonist from the orphanage. We are a several years ahead of the storyline of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch is still identifiable: already dependent on ether, beloved by his nurses, starting every address with “In this place...” But his appearance in Queen Esther is confined to these initial parts.

The couple fret about parenting Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a young girl of Jewish descent find herself?” To tackle that, we flash forward to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to the area, where she will become part of the Haganah, the Jewish nationalist militant organisation whose “purpose was to defend Jewish settlements from hostile actions” and which would later become the core of the Israel's military.

Such are enormous subjects to take on, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s regrettable that Queen Esther is not actually about St Cloud’s and the doctor, it’s even more disappointing that it’s likewise not focused on the titular figure. For reasons that must relate to story mechanics, Esther ends up as a gestational carrier for another of the family's children, and delivers to a baby boy, Jimmy, in 1941 – and the majority of this book is the boy's narrative.

And here is where Irving’s preoccupations come roaring back, both typical and distinct. Jimmy moves to – of course – the Austrian capital; there’s mention of dodging the Vietnam draft through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a pet with a significant title (Hard Rain, remember the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, streetwalkers, writers and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

He is a duller figure than the heroine suggested to be, and the secondary players, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s instructor Eissler, are flat as well. There are some nice set pieces – Jimmy deflowering; a brawl where a handful of thugs get assaulted with a walking aid and a tire pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not once been a nuanced writer, but that is is not the issue. He has repeatedly repeated his arguments, hinted at story twists and let them to gather in the audience's mind before bringing them to resolution in extended, surprising, entertaining sequences. For case, in Irving’s books, physical elements tend to go missing: recall the tongue in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those absences reverberate through the story. In the book, a central person loses an arm – but we just find out thirty pages later the end.

She reappears toward the end in the book, but just with a final impression of wrapping things up. We do not do find out the complete story of her life in the Middle East. The book is a disappointment from a novelist who in the past gave such delight. That’s the bad news. The good news is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading alongside this book – yet holds up wonderfully, 40 years on. So read it as an alternative: it’s much longer as Queen Esther, but 12 times as enjoyable.