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

If certain authors experience an golden era, during which they hit the summit consistently, then American author John Irving’s lasted through a series of several long, rewarding works, from his late-seventies hit The World According to Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. Such were generous, humorous, big-hearted books, linking characters he calls “outsiders” to cultural themes from feminism to termination.

Following His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been declining returns, save in word count. His most recent work, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was 900 pages in length of subjects Irving had delved into more effectively in earlier books (mutism, dwarfism, trans issues), with a 200-page script in the middle to fill it out – as if padding were necessary.

Therefore we approach a new Irving with care but still a small glimmer of hope, which shines brighter when we learn that His Queen Esther Novel – a mere four hundred thirty-two pages long – “revisits the universe of The Cider House Rules”. That mid-eighties novel is among Irving’s very best novels, taking place mostly in an institution in Maine's St Cloud’s, run by Dr Larch and his assistant Homer Wells.

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

In The Cider House Rules, Irving discussed termination and identity with colour, humor and an all-encompassing understanding. And it was a important novel because it left behind the topics that were evolving into annoying patterns in his books: the sport of wrestling, bears, Vienna, the oldest profession.

Queen Esther opens in the imaginary community of Penacook, New Hampshire in the beginning of the 1900s, where Thomas and Constance Winslow adopt young ward Esther from St Cloud's home. We are a a number of generations prior to the storyline of The Cider House Rules, yet the doctor remains identifiable: even then addicted to anesthetic, beloved by his caregivers, opening every talk with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his role in Queen Esther is restricted to these opening sections.

The Winslows fret about bringing up Esther correctly: she’s from a Jewish background, and “how could they help a young Jewish female understand her place?” To address that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the area, where she will enter Haganah, the Jewish nationalist armed group whose “goal was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would subsequently establish the core of the Israel's military.

Those are massive themes to address, but having brought in them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is hardly about St Cloud's and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more upsetting that it’s also not focused on the titular figure. For motivations that must connect to narrative construction, Esther becomes a surrogate mother for another of the Winslows’ children, and bears to a son, James, in 1941 – and the bulk of this novel is Jimmy’s narrative.

And here is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both common and particular. Jimmy goes to – of course – the city; there’s mention of avoiding the draft notice through self-mutilation (Owen Meany); a pet with a meaningful title (Hard Rain, meet Sorrow from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as grappling, sex workers, authors and genitalia (Irving’s throughout).

Jimmy is a more mundane persona than the heroine suggested to be, and the supporting figures, such as students the two students, and Jimmy’s tutor Eissler, are underdeveloped also. There are several enjoyable scenes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a confrontation where a few thugs get battered with a support and a bicycle pump – but they’re brief.

Irving has never been a subtle author, but that is is not the difficulty. He has consistently repeated his ideas, foreshadowed story twists and let them to build up in the audience's mind before bringing them to resolution in long, jarring, amusing scenes. For example, in Irving’s novels, physical elements tend to be lost: recall the tongue in The Garp Novel, the digit in His Owen Book. Those absences resonate through the story. In this novel, a key figure loses an upper extremity – but we only learn 30 pages later the conclusion.

She returns in the final part in the book, but just with a final feeling of ending the story. We do not learn the entire narrative of her time in the Middle East. This novel is a disappointment from a novelist who in the past gave such joy. That’s the negative aspect. The positive note is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading together with this novel – even now remains beautifully, four decades later. So pick up that instead: it’s much longer as this book, but a dozen times as great.