Queen Esther

By John Irving
Simon & Schuster, 432 pages, $30

In The Cider House Rules, John Irving opens with a urological concern.

The nurses in the boys’ division of the St. Cloud Orphanage spend their new arrivals’ early days “checking that their little penises were healing from their obligatory circumcisions.”

Decades later, in Queen Esther, a muddled sequel of sorts, about a New England family and their ill-at-ease scion’s ambivalent Jewish identity, Irving considers the procedure as a sign of the covenant.

Esther Nacht, an orphan from that same institution — self-described as “a Viennese-born Jew who grew up in an orphanage in Maine, her mother murdered by anti-semites in Portland!” — becomes uniquely invested in what to do with the foreskin of her soon-to-be-born son.

It’s not her decision alone to make. Esther is only the surrogate mother, carrying the boy for Honor Winslow, the New Hampshire girl whose parents took Esther from the orphanage in the 1920s to be her au pair. Honor and Esther agree on one matter: The boy, Jimmy — who will be circumcised but will not have a bris — won’t be brought up Jewish, “for his own sake.”

Esther, for her part, has no choice. Her mother insisted she know about her Jewishness, and by dint of her murder at the hands of unclearly-motivated antisemites, unwittingly entrusted that education to the clueless Dr. Larch and his staff at St. Cloud. Irving, whose preoccupation with circumcision may betray him as a closet intactivist, seems to have a narrow and at times troubling idea of what it means to live Jewishly.

While Irving’s body of work is decidedly goyische, Jews have appeared sporadically. A mother in A Prayer for Owen Meany cries antisemitism over the title character’s rudeness (he didn’t know she was Jewish).  Billy Abbott, in 2012’s In One Person, sides with Shylock while reading Merchant of Venice.

Irving makes no bones about being on the side of the oppressed — even vengeful — Jew. As he said in a 2024 interview with The Times of Israel, “I’m not Jewish, but I’ve always been pro-Israel, and I’ve always been pro-Jewish.” This novel, if coming from a left flank, with a stridently pro-choice and anti-religion cast of characters, may be his version of Project Esther.

The author’s identification is embodied here by Esther’s biological son Jimmy Winslow. Through his adoptive family he’s a faculty brat at Penacook Academy in New Hampshire, Irving’s latest stand-in for Phillips Exeter, where his stepfather was a teacher, and where he nursed a certain alienation.

“I always felt that I didn’t belong there; I always felt like a foreigner,” Irving told The Times, and so he connected with Jewish wrestling teammates. Throughout the book Jimmy is stuck with an unshakable “belief in his intrinsic foreignness.” (He later becomes an author who writes a novel called The Doctor’s Rules, about the orphanage at St. Cloud, which seems rather familiar.)

That Irving is not Jewish isn’t a problem, given Jimmy isn’t really either, beyond the fact of his biological parents, the tall, elusive Esther and a petite wrestler (always with the wrestling, and the nebulous paternity) named Moshe Kleinberg — aka “Moses Little Mountain.” Like Irving, he’s an “ally,” sticking up for a teammate named Jonah Feldstein (incidentally the given name of Superbad star Jonah Hill) roughed up by antisemitic toughs named Marcel and Marceau (ironically the stage name of a Jewish mime).

For the purposes of this plot, which mostly follows Jimmy, Jewishness is but a mark of difference, and a distinction without much of one. Except for fear.

“It’s too late for you to be Jewish — you didn’t grow up afraid,” Esther tells Jimmy, in one of her laconic letters.

Esther, with no real Jewish education, nonetheless had a Jewish calling, first going to Vienna in the lead-up to World War II, where she served as a courier to exiled Austrian Jews in Czechoslovakia. She later makes aliyah (Irving helpfully translates this and other Hebrew terms to English) and appears to work for the Haganah and later Mossad in some unknown capacity. Esther’s Jewish journey is one her adoptive family doesn’t feel comfortable tackling, and Irving doesn’t either, so we mostly hear the details in passing via the mailbox.

The book is both wildly preoccupied by Jewishness and antisemitism and completely uncomfortable with illustrating how either functions beyond some rote, inelegantly conveyed history lessons on Mandatory Palestine. It even recuses itself by disappearing Esther as she pursues her goal to be the best Jew possible, which makes you wonder why any of the Jewish meshugas is even there in the first place.

When, in the final stretch, the plot places an adult Jimmy in Jerusalem amid the Lebanese Civil War two characters, who seem sympathetic at first, collapse his empathy toward Palestinians by affirming the ugliest slander imaginable: The Arab population wants to wipe out all Jews, and indoctrinate their children to think the same.

“This is what Esther was protecting him from,”  Jimmy concludes, “the eternal conflict, the everlasting hatred.”

To Irving, the Jewish condition is being hated, and not much else. It’s a relief when he drops this theme, for about half the novel, to recount a zany sex plot in Vienna (it always waits for Irving’s characters) where Jimmy befriends a German Shepherd named “Hard Rain” (for the Dylan song), and plots to “knock up” the lesbian partner of his roommate to dodge the draft in Vietnam.

Somewhere inside here is a reflection of the predicament of the biblical Queen Esther, whose tale provides an epigraph (“For we are sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be slain, and to perish”).

Like Jimmy, Esther had a Jewishness she had to suppress in order to function as a secret advocate for her people. Only Jimmy is told to ignore his heritage — not just the Jewish parts, but the Mayflower pedigree of his adoptive family. That this may come as a loss is dutifully acknowledged, but a bit beside the point.

With regard to Esther herself, Irving’s read of the Megillah is misguided, opting to see her namesake as “wreaking vengeance on Haman.” The Winslows call her an “Old Testament girl,” and Irving seems to think most of that book boils down to “kill-or-be-killed” talion law.

Many critiques I can level at the novel are already voiced within it.

At various points the book points to Esther’s “vagueness” saying it’s as if she “lived in the background, like peripheral characters in a novel” Later Jimmy states there is “something more mythical than actual about Esther. Like a literary character,” with the mysterious loss of her arm seeming more “symbolic than real.” Pretty much. Pointing this out doesn’t make up for her deficiencies as a character. The fact that her name means “hidden” is hardly an excuse for obscuring nearly everything about her.

Where the Book of Esther is lean, cogent and contains nothing extraneous, Queen Esther is flabby and unfocused. Jimmy’s grandfather, Thomas, an English teacher with a love for Victorian fiction, insists “real life isn’t plotted like a novel.” This novel isn’t either.

But Thomas, a Boston Brahmin just out of place in smalltown New Hampshire, also offers some sage words when it comes to Esther. Whenever the family’s concerned for her undefined escapades in Europe or the new State of Israel, he reminds them “Jewish business is her business, not ours.”

If only Irving was canny enough to keep out of it too.

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