John Irving's Queen Esther Evaluation – An Underwhelming Companion to His Earlier Masterpiece

If a few novelists enjoy an imperial era, in which they reach the heights repeatedly, then American novelist John Irving’s ran through a run of several long, gratifying novels, from his 1978 hit Garp to 1989’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. These were expansive, humorous, big-hearted works, connecting figures he calls “outliers” to cultural themes from gender equality to abortion.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been waning results, aside from in word count. His most recent book, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was nine hundred pages long of themes Irving had examined more effectively in previous novels (inability to speak, short stature, trans issues), with a lengthy screenplay in the center to fill it out – as if padding were needed.

Therefore we come to a new Irving with care but still a faint spark of hope, which glows brighter when we discover that Queen Esther – a just four hundred thirty-two pages in length – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 novel is among Irving’s very best works, located largely in an children's home in Maine's St Cloud’s, run by Dr Larch and his apprentice Homer.

Queen Esther is a disappointment from a writer who in the past gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving explored pregnancy termination and acceptance with colour, humor and an comprehensive understanding. And it was a major novel because it left behind the subjects that were becoming repetitive tics in his books: the sport of wrestling, ursine creatures, the city of Vienna, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther opens in the made-up village of New Hampshire's Penacook in the early 20th century, where Thomas and Constance Winslow welcome 14-year-old orphan the title character from the orphanage. We are a several years before the action of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch stays identifiable: still addicted to anesthetic, respected by his nurses, starting every address with “In this place...” But his role in Queen Esther is confined to these initial scenes.

The family are concerned about raising Esther correctly: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a young girl of Jewish descent find herself?” To answer that, we move forward to Esther’s adulthood in the Roaring Twenties. She will be a member of the Jewish emigration to Palestine, where she will enter the Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant force whose “mission was to defend Jewish communities from opposition” and which would later form the core of the Israel's military.

These are huge subjects to tackle, but having presented them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s frustrating that the novel is hardly about St Cloud's and Wilbur Larch, it’s still more disheartening that it’s additionally not about Esther. For causes that must relate to story mechanics, Esther turns into a surrogate mother for one more of the Winslows’ offspring, and gives birth to a baby boy, James, in 1941 – and the majority of this novel is his narrative.

And at this point is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both regular and specific. Jimmy moves to – of course – Vienna; there’s talk of evading the military conscription through bodily injury (Owen Meany); a pet with a symbolic name (the animal, meet Sorrow from His Hotel Novel); as well as the sport, prostitutes, authors and penises (Irving’s passim).

Jimmy is a less interesting persona than the female lead hinted to be, and the minor figures, such as pupils the two students, and Jimmy’s teacher the tutor, are underdeveloped as well. There are a few amusing set pieces – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a couple of thugs get assaulted with a support and a air pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has not once been a nuanced author, but that is is not the problem. He has consistently reiterated his arguments, hinted at narrative turns and let them to gather in the reader’s thoughts before bringing them to resolution in long, surprising, entertaining sequences. For example, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to be lost: remember the tongue in The Garp Novel, the finger in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces resonate through the plot. In the book, a major person suffers the loss of an limb – but we merely learn 30 pages the finish.

Esther comes back toward the end in the book, but merely with a last-minute impression of ending the story. We never learn the full narrative of her life in the Middle East. The book is a failure from a writer who previously gave such pleasure. That’s the negative aspect. The good news is that The Cider House Rules – I reread it in parallel to this book – yet remains wonderfully, after forty years. So choose it instead: it’s much longer as this book, but far as enjoyable.