“Durcan doesn't offer any easy answers in this searching, meticulously observed novel of moral complexity. He does offer plenty to think about.”  — TORONTO STAR

“Durcan takes us right into the nub of the neuroscientific conception of the self. How tenable, after all, are our ideas of free will and individual responsibility, when genes for risk aversion and alcoholism and almost every element of what we understand as personality have been identified? And as interesting a debate as this might be in Scientific American essays, Durcan's skill as a novelist takes us deeper yet, into the entirely unabstracted essence of the problem … Montrealer Durcan's first book of short stories, A Short Journey by Car (2004), presaged this slippery, engrossing effort, and was a Globe 100 Book. His writing has only solidified since then; this becomes apparent as Durcan follows the history of Lazarenko's lingering love for García's daughter, a story that emerges unsentimentally and yet with a deep, aching sadness. … [A] sense of rupture and dislocation and of new possibility at the end of García's Heart becomes Durcan's principal and most compelling point: The novelist trumps the neurologist, and what matters is what stirs us, and the fact of that stirring. Dystopian novels must end with some kind of shattering, and here it is Lazarenko's self-anesthesia, and the reader's. You must read this book.”  — THE GLOBE AND MAIL

“[A] stunningly well-written first novel . Durcan avoids the common failing of novelists who want to impress readers with their research. Scientific knowledge enriches Garcia's Heart, but doesn't overwhelm it. Better still, he writes the way one imagines a brain surgeon employs his tools -- with strength to cut through bone and feather-light delicacy to excise minute strands of tissue. Durcan's style is a mixture of precision and playfulness, irony and moral seriousness reminiscent of British master Ian McEwan, or even a slightly restrained Martin Amis. Characters are delineated so cleverly that even minor figures spring to life. Settings, too, are painted wonderfully. . [L]iterary delights are frequent, but they never detract from the novel's intensity or its moral purpose. Durcan shows that a writer need not be dull to be serious. It's a remarkable accomplishment.”  — WINNIPEG FREE PRESS

PRAISE FOR GARCÍA'S HEART

“Following his 2004 short story collection, A Short Journey by Car, Durcan's outstanding debut novel walks a taut line between skillful thriller and philosophical novel of ideas. Though he has yet to develop fully his authorial powers and talent, he already writes with an ease reminiscent of Graham Greene. Durcan crafts a character whose background in neurology and medicine-Durcan is himself a neurologist-deftly informs the action. Drawn from Montreal to the Hague to witness the war crimes trial of former mentor Hernan García, Patrick Lazerenko must confront a landslide of moral, political, and personal questions that haunt and confront him at all stages of his association with the Spanish immigrant and his family. As the plot unfolds, the novel takes on a breathtaking immediacy that will awe readers and tune them into probing ethical dilemmas.”  — LIBRARY JOURNAL

“What prompts an honorable man to commit unspeakable acts? That's one of many moral conundrums considered in Durcan's compelling debut. As the novel opens, Boston neurologist Patrick Lazerenko has arrived at The Hague to witness the war crimes trial of Hernan García de la Cruz, a onetime physician from Honduras who became a mentor and friend to Patrick during his formative years in Montreal. Is it possible that Hernan, the man who inspired Patrick to become a doctor, once used his medical knowledge for evil, torturing political subversives in his native land? In his work back in Boston, Patrick researches the brain's role in the decision-making process. Might that cutting-edge expertise now help exonerate Hernan? As the trial moves forward, Patrick retreats into the past, recalling his affection for the García family and his love for Hernan's spirited daughter, Celia. Canadian neurologist and short story writer Durcan (A Short Journey by Car, 2004) renders satisfyingly complex characters in sharp, vivid prose. One of the lawyers at the trial "never made eye contact, the weight of his gaze like a finger on Patrick's Adam's apple." García's Heart beats with a riveting blend of science and suspense, perfect for fans of David Baldacci and John le Carré.”  — BOOKLIST, starred review

“[A] remarkable debut novel … evocations of Ian McEwan's Saturday [but] Durcan beats McEwan at his own game by resisting the tendency to show off and, in doing so, produces a restrained, artfully paced work built around its central ethical question, which is not so much "what is evil?" as "what, exactly, is the nature of good?"”  — QUILL & QUIRE, starred review

“Neurologist Durcan (A Short Journey by Car) dissects the ethics involved when politics, medicine and violence collide in this finely wrought novel about a neurologist turned biotech entrepreneur who travels to The Hague to witness his mentor's war crimes trial… Subplots involving a devious political think-tank, the long-expired romance between Patrick and Hernan's daughter and the goings-on at Patrick's company, provide a rich backdrop to the trial, but the centerpiece is the mélange of complex feelings that arise within Patrick, who finds himself simultaneously condemning and rooting for Hernan.”  — PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

“Durcan's language is sculpted with seemingly effortless precision. His sentences are rich with detail and metaphor, luxurious with reference and allusion, but also lean and raw, getting straight to the point of what he wants to describe. And what he wants to describe is no simple matter: it is the struggle among conflicting feelings, impressions, beliefs and realities when good people try to understand one another despite the pain they have inadvertently inflicted on each other and on themselves. Durcan gets it. He gets the humiliation of losing one's will in the face of rejection, the anxiety that erodes understanding, the hope that keeps us straining for self-knowledge. He gets it and he tells it beautifully, powerfully, both softly and savagely, in language that courses with intelligence.”  — LITERARY REVIEW OF CANADA