What's happened to Joseph O'Neill?

I really don't know what's happened to Joseph O'Neill. His novel Netherland was one of the best of contemporary American novels, a terrific portrayal of a family and a city under stress (NY in the wake of 9/11),  a great examination of an obscure aspect of life in a diverse NY (a cricket league!), and on top of that a compelling murder mystery: character, plot, setting, ideas, everything. But his recent stories, for ex. The First World, in current New Yorker? No doubt O'Neill has it down when it comes to establishing a voice for a male narrator - wise, self-observant, open to listening to others, confiding - in fact his style reminds me of Richard Ford at his best. But what is this story? It's not even a story! The narrator walking in downtown Manhattan encounters an old friend, who insists that they stop for a few beers, and the friend hits him w/ long lament about the woman who used to care for his kids, now living on the edge of poverty, and nobody, except this guy, does a damn thing to help her. So, yes, we see that wealthy New Yorkers are self-centered and cold, contemptuous, and heartless, but this is really just one long complaint, which even the narrator wants to ditch, and who can blame him? A story needs some kind of shape, some purpose, and this one is just a ramble and is obviously in print in a prominent new collection as well as in the NYer based on reputation and not current achievement. I truly hope O'Neill is just sidetracked at the moment for some reason and that he can again rise up to the level of his finest achievement.