"Dreamers of the Day" by Mary Doria Russell; Random House, 255 pages, $25.95

No one can accuse novelist Mary Doria Russell of shying away from big topics in her books.

Her first novel, "The Sparrow," and its sequel, "Children of God," were science-fiction adventures that blended religion, anthropology and biology in a compelling and thought-provoking tale of first contact. One reviewer called the books historical fiction set in the future.

Her third novel, "A Thread of Grace," was an equally rich and detailed work of historical fiction, the true World War II story of thousands of Italian Jews saved by their sympathetic countrymen.

Her new book, "Dreamers of the Day," explores a nearly century-old event with critical resonance in the modern world: the carving up of the Middle East in the aftermath of World War I.

The narrator, Agnes Shanklin, is a middle-aged Cleveland schoolteacher whose mundane life is shattered by the 1918 influenza outbreak that in a few short days kills her entire extended family. Suddenly alone in the world, she decides to spend some of her inheritance on a trip to Egypt, inspired by a theater performance highlighting the wartime adventures of T.E. Lawrence, the man dubbed "Lawrence of Arabia" for his help uniting Arab tribes against the Turks.

Shanklin arrives in Cairo in 1921 and is immediately swept up in the characters and events around the Cairo Conference, during which Winston Churchill, Lady Gertrude Bell, Lawrence and other historical figures created the modern Middle East.

In contrast to the subtle shading and foreshadowing of her previous books, Russell stakes out her intentions early and loudly. Within the opening pages, Agnes explains how puzzled she and others were by Woodrow Wilson's decision to enter the European war. Here she is referring to the Zimmerman telegram, a German document that purported to offer Mexico territories it had lost to the United States in exchange for help in the war:

"But there you are: Even if the reason for going to war was a shameless hoax, the war itself was real and, by God, America was in it!"

Sound familiar?

The wink-wink references to current events continue unabated. Here's Lawrence on the troubles in the Middle East, including the area that would become Iraq: "The relentless concealment! The British public were tricked into this adventure in Mesopotamia by a steady withholding of information."

Or the mild-mannered German spy with whom Agnes takes up, referring to Lawrence's idea for "Mesopotamia": Lawrence's "plan was sensible: Keep the three Ottoman districts separate: Kurds in the north, Sunni in the middle, Shia in the south."

Different millennium, same argument.

Connecting such comments to current circumstances in the Mideast lends weight to Russell's novel. Her characters' prescient remarks are also a painful reminder of the region's deep and troubled roots, and how the West seems intent on forgetting its own history at its peril.

But this approach also embodies the book's serious shortcomings: a tendency toward heavy-handed storytelling and preachy narration.

Too often, the book reads less like literature than a history lesson as characters, in the guise of educating Agnes, dutifully explain the Middle East's makeup, tribal histories and religious past.

Russell succeeds at insinuating Agnes, Zelig-like, into real-life events — outings with Churchill while he paints landscapes and a trip by camel to the pyramids work particularly well. But her attempt to underscore the tragic legacy of that 1921 conference overshadows such scenes to the detriment of the narrative and her attempt to make an important point.

It's a disappointment, given Russell's previous works, which demonstrate an ability to tackle tough and painful topics in entertaining shades of complexity.