Queen Esther by John Irving Review – An Underwhelming Sequel to His Classic Work

If certain novelists experience an imperial era, in which they hit the pinnacle consistently, then U.S. writer John Irving’s lasted through a series of four long, satisfying works, from his late-seventies hit Garp to 1989’s Owen Meany. Those were rich, humorous, big-hearted books, linking characters he calls “misfits” to social issues from feminism to termination.

Following Owen Meany, it’s been waning results, save in page length. His most recent work, the 2022 release The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages in length of themes Irving had examined more skillfully in earlier books (mutism, short stature, gender identity), with a 200-page screenplay in the heart to extend it – as if extra material were needed.

Thus we come to a new Irving with reservation but still a faint spark of hope, which glows hotter when we find out that Queen Esther – a only 432 pages in length – “returns to the world of The Cider House Novel”. That 1985 novel is one of Irving’s top-tier books, taking place largely in an institution in the town of St Cloud’s, run by Dr Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer.

The book is a letdown from a novelist who in the past gave such pleasure

In Cider House, Irving wrote about termination and acceptance with vibrancy, wit and an all-encompassing empathy. And it was a major book because it abandoned the themes that were evolving into repetitive patterns in his books: wrestling, bears, Austrian capital, prostitution.

This book starts in the made-up village of Penacook, New Hampshire in the beginning of the 1900s, where the Winslow couple take in teenage ward the protagonist from St Cloud's home. We are a few decades prior to the events of The Cider House Rules, yet the doctor remains identifiable: even then using the drug, adored by his caregivers, starting every address with “In this place...” But his role in Queen Esther is limited to these initial scenes.

The couple are concerned about bringing up Esther well: she’s Jewish, and “in what way could they help a adolescent Jewish female discover her identity?” To tackle that, we move forward to Esther’s grown-up years in the twenties era. She will be a member of the Jewish emigration to the region, where she will join the Haganah, the pro-Zionist armed group whose “mission was to defend Jewish settlements from hostile actions” and which would subsequently become the core of the Israel's military.

Such are huge themes to tackle, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s regrettable that the novel is not actually about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more disappointing that it’s additionally not about the main character. For reasons that must relate to story mechanics, Esther ends up as a surrogate mother for a different of the family's daughters, and bears to a male child, James, in World War II era – and the lion's share of this book is the boy's story.

And here is where Irving’s obsessions reappear loudly, both common and particular. Jimmy goes to – where else? – the city; there’s mention of evading the military conscription through self-harm (Owen Meany); a dog with a significant designation (Hard Rain, meet the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as wrestling, streetwalkers, novelists and penises (Irving’s throughout).

He is a more mundane character than the female lead suggested to be, and the supporting characters, such as young people Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s teacher Eissler, are flat too. There are some amusing scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a couple of ruffians get beaten with a support and a bicycle pump – but they’re here and gone.

Irving has not ever been a subtle writer, but that is not the problem. He has consistently repeated his ideas, hinted at narrative turns and let them to build up in the audience's imagination before leading them to completion in extended, shocking, amusing sequences. For case, in Irving’s works, physical elements tend to be lost: think of the tongue in Garp, the finger in Owen Meany. Those absences resonate through the plot. In the book, a key figure suffers the loss of an arm – but we just learn 30 pages later the end.

She reappears in the final part in the novel, but only with a eleventh-hour sense of concluding. We do not do find out the entire story of her experiences in the region. Queen Esther is a disappointment from a author who once gave such delight. That’s the downside. The good news is that Cider House – revisiting it alongside this work – still remains excellently, after forty years. So read the earlier work in its place: it’s twice as long as Queen Esther, but far as enjoyable.