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

If a few novelists enjoy an peak phase, where they reach the heights consistently, then American novelist John Irving’s extended through a sequence of four long, rewarding works, from his 1978 success The World According to Garp to 1989’s His Owen Meany Book. Such were rich, humorous, compassionate works, tying characters he describes as “outsiders” to social issues from feminism to reproductive rights.

Since His Owen Meany Novel, it’s been diminishing outcomes, save in size. His last work, the 2022 release The Chairlift Book, was nine hundred pages of subjects Irving had examined more skillfully in earlier works (mutism, short stature, gender identity), with a two-hundred-page screenplay in the center to fill it out – as if filler were required.

Thus we look at a new Irving with care but still a tiny glimmer of expectation, which glows hotter when we learn that His Queen Esther Novel – a only four hundred thirty-two pages long – “goes back to the universe of The Cider House Rules”. That 1985 book is among Irving’s very best novels, located largely in an institution in St Cloud’s, Maine, operated by Dr Wilbur Larch and his apprentice Homer.

Queen Esther is a failure from a writer who once gave such joy

In Cider House, Irving explored termination and acceptance with colour, humor and an comprehensive understanding. And it was a major work because it left behind the topics that were becoming repetitive habits in his works: wrestling, bears, Austrian capital, the oldest profession.

This book starts in the made-up village of the Penacook area in the beginning of the 1900s, where Thomas and Constance Winslow adopt young orphan the protagonist from St Cloud’s. We are a a number of generations before the action of His Earlier Novel, yet the doctor remains identifiable: already using the drug, respected by his staff, starting every address with “In this place...” But his appearance in the book is restricted to these opening parts.

The couple are concerned about raising Esther well: she’s of Jewish faith, and “in what way could they help a young girl of Jewish descent discover her identity?” To answer that, we jump ahead to Esther’s later life in the Roaring Twenties. She will be involved of the Jewish exodus to the region, where she will enter the Haganah, the Jewish nationalist paramilitary force whose “purpose was to safeguard Jewish communities from hostile actions” and which would subsequently form the foundation of the Israeli Defense Forces.

Such are enormous themes to tackle, but having introduced them, Irving avoids them. Because if it’s frustrating that this book is hardly about St Cloud’s and Wilbur Larch, it’s even more disheartening that it’s additionally not really concerning the titular figure. For causes that must connect to narrative construction, Esther ends up as a surrogate mother for another of the Winslows’ offspring, and gives birth to a son, Jimmy, in World War II era – and the majority of this story is Jimmy’s tale.

And now is where Irving’s preoccupations reappear loudly, both regular and distinct. Jimmy moves to – naturally – Vienna; there’s talk of dodging the Vietnam draft through self-harm (A Prayer for Owen Meany); a canine with a significant designation (the dog's name, recall the canine from His Hotel Novel); as well as the sport, sex workers, authors and male anatomy (Irving’s throughout).

The character is a more mundane character than Esther promised to be, and the supporting players, such as students the pair, and Jimmy’s teacher Annelies Eissler, are flat as well. There are some amusing episodes – Jimmy losing his virginity; a brawl where a few ruffians get beaten with a crutch and a tire pump – but they’re short-lived.

Irving has not ever been a delicate author, but that is isn't the difficulty. He has consistently repeated his points, hinted at narrative turns and allowed them to build up in the viewer's mind before bringing them to resolution in lengthy, shocking, funny scenes. For instance, in Irving’s books, anatomical features tend to go missing: think of the tongue in The Garp Novel, the digit in Owen Meany. Those missing pieces reverberate through the story. In the book, a major character is deprived of an limb – but we merely learn 30 pages later the end.

Esther reappears toward the end in the book, but only with a final feeling of wrapping things up. We do not discover the full account of her experiences in the region. Queen Esther is a letdown from a author who previously gave such joy. That’s the bad news. The positive note is that His Classic Novel – upon rereading in parallel to this work – even now holds up beautifully, 40 years on. So choose it as an alternative: it’s twice as long as this book, but far as good.