If a few writers experience an golden era, during which they achieve the pinnacle consistently, then U.S. writer John Irving’s extended through a series of four fat, rewarding works, from his late-seventies breakthrough Garp to the 1989 release Owen Meany. Such were generous, witty, warm books, linking protagonists he describes as “outliers” to social issues from women's rights to termination.
Since A Prayer for Owen Meany, it’s been diminishing results, except in word count. His previous work, the 2022 release His Last Chairlift Novel, was 900 pages long of topics Irving had examined better in previous works (mutism, dwarfism, gender identity), with a lengthy screenplay in the heart to extend it – as if padding were required.
So we approach a recent Irving with caution but still a faint flame of hope, which burns stronger when we discover that Queen Esther – a mere 432 pages – “returns to the universe of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is part of Irving’s very best works, located mostly in an children's home in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Wilbur Larch and his assistant Homer Wells.
The book is a letdown from a author who once gave such pleasure
In Cider House, Irving wrote about abortion and acceptance with richness, humor and an all-encompassing empathy. And it was a significant novel because it left behind the topics that were turning into repetitive habits in his works: wrestling, bears, the city of Vienna, sex work.
This book starts in the imaginary town of the Penacook area in the beginning of the 1900s, where Mr. and Mrs. Winslow adopt teenage foundling the title character from the orphanage. We are a few decades before the action of The Cider House Rules, yet Dr Larch stays familiar: even then dependent on anesthetic, adored by his staff, starting every talk with “At St Cloud's...” But his role in this novel is restricted to these opening scenes.
The family fret about raising Esther properly: she’s Jewish, and “how could they help a adolescent Jewish girl find herself?” To address that, we move forward to Esther’s later life in the 1920s. She will be involved of the Jewish emigration to Palestine, where she will become part of the Haganah, the pro-Zionist militant organisation whose “purpose was to defend Jewish towns from hostile actions” and which would subsequently form the core of the Israel's military.
Such are huge subjects to tackle, but having presented them, Irving backs away. Because if it’s disappointing that Queen Esther is not actually about St Cloud's and Dr Larch, it’s still more upsetting that it’s likewise not focused on Esther. For causes that must connect to plot engineering, Esther turns into a gestational carrier for another of the couple's offspring, and bears to a baby boy, James, in World War II era – and the majority of this book is his narrative.
And now is where Irving’s preoccupations reappear loudly, both typical and particular. Jimmy goes to – of course – Vienna; there’s mention of evading the military conscription through self-mutilation (Owen Meany); a pet with a significant name (the animal, meet the earlier dog from His Hotel Novel); as well as grappling, sex workers, novelists and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).
The character is a duller character than Esther suggested to be, and the secondary players, such as young people the pair, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are underdeveloped as well. There are a few enjoyable set pieces – Jimmy losing his virginity; a fight where a couple of bullies get battered with a support and a air pump – but they’re brief.
Irving has not ever been a delicate novelist, but that is not the issue. He has always reiterated his ideas, hinted at narrative turns and enabled them to build up in the audience's thoughts before leading them to fruition in long, shocking, entertaining moments. For instance, in Irving’s novels, body parts tend to be lost: recall the tongue in The Garp Novel, the finger in Owen Meany. Those losses echo through the plot. In this novel, a key character suffers the loss of an arm – but we just find out thirty pages later the end.
She reappears in the final part in the novel, but only with a final 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 pleasure. That’s the bad news. The upside is that The Cider House Rules – upon rereading alongside this novel – yet remains excellently, after forty years. So read that as an alternative: it’s much longer as the new novel, but a dozen times as good.
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