“Ambitious” does not begin to ­describe Timothy Taylor’s much-anticipated third novel; regrettably, the book becomes so convoluted in its attempt to be a relevant artifact of our social and cultural zeitgeist that its impact is diminished.

Set in an unidentified North American city, the novel’s central event is a three-day hostage-taking involving child contestants on a show called KiddieFame, a version of our many Idol-esque talent shows. The Meme Media Hostage Crisis, as it comes to be known, grips the city in fear, creating chaos, paranoia, and violent divisions among the populace.

Mov, the hostage-taker, is a former operative at so-called black sites (think Abu Ghraib), responsible for breaking down prisoners in preparation for interrogation. After a prisoner dies and Mov confesses his guilt and regret to his superiors, he is fired.

Mov finds an unlikely kindred spirit in Thom Pegg, a disgraced journalist who has been stripped of his Pulitzer Prize for falsifying facts in a story about black sites. The only person Mov will speak to about his motive for the hostage-taking, Pegg has a chance to redeem himself and his professional reputation. He discovers that Mov’s intent is not revenge over the loss of his position, but rather “turning people against themselves,” and turning “the machinery onto itself.” The relationship between Pegg and Mov is one of the more successful dramatic elements in the novel, even containing moments of unexpected humour.

As the hostage crisis progresses, another story unfolds around Eve Latour, a former Olympic champion and much-loved resident of the city. Despite her fame and fortune, Eve has suffered the end of an engagement, the death of her father, and the unexplained disappearance of her beloved brother, Ali. Unwilling to allow her suffering to stifle her, Eve takes action,  deciding that a reunion with Ali is essential.

Rabbit, the last of the novel’s central figures, is the only character with whom the reader can really connect. Having left a lucrative corporate job, Rabbit has become a street artist and practitioner of Parkour: “We call it Freesteal,” he declares. “Freedom of movement. Stealing time and views. It’s about getting in places. Getting out. Leaving a poster behind or some writing or whatever it is.”

Rabbit attempts to use his art to recapture the unsullied landscape as it existed before the advent of the city and all its corruption. The Blue Light Project – a massive, city-wide installation revealed at the end of the book – is Rabbit’s final effort to appropriate the tools of ­commercialism for the loftier purpose of ­demonstrating, especially during a time of crisis and fear, that there remains the possibility of beauty in the world.

Through all of this, the novel attempts to examine a dizzying collection of themes, including disgrace and redemption, the cult of celebrity, crowd violence and police brutality, art and commercialism, gang stalking, the loss of loved ones, and the meaning of family. This thematic pile-up is often confusing and overwhelming.

One engaging idea does emerge out of the overlapping storylines and multiple layers, however. The notion that trauma can lead to self-understanding and lend one’s life a purpose applies not only to Rabbit, but also to Eve and Thom, and perhaps the city itself, which is stopped short by an illness of sorts that, it may be inferred, offers an opportunity for great change.

In the end, though, The Blue Light Project tries to say too much and force connections among disparate characters and storylines. As a result, it ends up not saying much at all. The conclusion is disappointing: it is hard not to wonder whether a stunt, even on the magnitude of Rabbit’s, is adequate to the task of restoring hope and order to a city so ­besieged by turmoil.

Critics have observed that Taylor’s unquestionable talent is most obvious in his short fiction; The Blue Light Project lends credence to this assessment. What might have worked well as several individual stories becomes ungainly when forced to conform to the shape of a novel.