John Irving's Queen Esther Evaluation – A Letdown Companion to His Classic Work

If a few authors experience an peak era, during which they reach the summit time after time, then American writer John Irving’s extended through a sequence of several substantial, rewarding works, from his late-seventies hit The World According to Garp to the 1989 release A Prayer for Owen Meany. These were generous, witty, warm works, linking protagonists he describes as “outsiders” to cultural themes from women's rights to termination.

After Owen Meany, it’s been declining returns, save in page length. His last work, 2022’s The Last Chairlift, was nine hundred pages in length of topics Irving had delved into better in earlier novels (inability to speak, short stature, gender identity), with a 200-page screenplay in the middle to pad it out – as if filler were needed.

Thus we approach a recent Irving with care but still a small glimmer of expectation, which burns stronger when we learn that Queen Esther – a only 432 pages – “revisits the setting of The Cider House Novel”. That mid-eighties book is one of Irving’s top-tier works, taking place largely in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, managed by Dr Wilbur Larch and his assistant Wells.

Queen Esther is a failure from a writer who previously gave such pleasure

In The Cider House Rules, Irving wrote about pregnancy termination and acceptance with richness, humor and an comprehensive compassion. And it was a major novel because it left behind the topics that were evolving into repetitive habits in his works: grappling, ursine creatures, Austrian capital, the oldest profession.

The novel starts in the imaginary town of the Penacook area in the early 20th century, where the Winslow couple adopt teenage orphan the title character from St Cloud's home. We are a several generations ahead of the storyline of His Earlier Novel, yet Wilbur Larch remains familiar: already using the drug, adored by his caregivers, opening every speech with “Here in St Cloud’s …” But his presence in the book is limited to these early scenes.

The Winslows are concerned about parenting Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “how might they help a young Jewish girl understand her place?” 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 join the Haganah, the Zionist paramilitary organisation whose “purpose was to protect Jewish settlements from opposition” and which would eventually become the core of the IDF.

Such are massive topics to tackle, but having presented them, Irving dodges out. Because if it’s frustrating that the novel is not really about St Cloud's and Dr Larch, it’s still more disheartening that it’s likewise not really concerning Esther. For motivations that must connect to story mechanics, Esther ends up as a substitute parent for one more of the couple's offspring, and gives birth to a son, the boy, in 1941 – and the majority of this book is his narrative.

And here is where Irving’s fixations reappear loudly, both typical and particular. Jimmy relocates to – of course – Vienna; there’s discussion of evading the draft notice through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a dog with a symbolic title (the animal, meet the earlier dog from The Hotel New Hampshire); as well as wrestling, prostitutes, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

Jimmy is a less interesting character than the heroine hinted to be, and the supporting figures, such as students Claude and Jolanda, and Jimmy’s tutor Annelies Eissler, are one-dimensional as well. There are some nice episodes – Jimmy his first sexual experience; a fight where a few ruffians get beaten with a walking aid and a bicycle pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate writer, but that is isn't the issue. He has always repeated his points, hinted at story twists and enabled them to gather in the viewer's thoughts before leading them to resolution in extended, jarring, entertaining moments. For example, in Irving’s works, body parts tend to go missing: recall the tongue in The Garp Novel, the digit in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces resonate through the narrative. In Queen Esther, a major character loses an arm – but we only find out thirty pages later the end.

The protagonist reappears toward the end in the novel, but just with a last-minute sense of wrapping things up. We do not discover the entire story of her life in the Middle East. Queen Esther is a failure from a author who once gave such delight. That’s the downside. The upside is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading in parallel to this work – still remains wonderfully, after forty years. So read that as an alternative: it’s twice as long as the new novel, but far as great.