Andrew O'Hagan

A heartbreaking novel of an extraordinary lifelong friendship.

Mayflies

In the summer of 1986, in a small Scottish town, James and Tully ignite a brilliant friendship based on music, films and the rebel spirit. With school over and the locked world of their fathers before them, they rush towards the climax of their youth: a magical weekend in Manchester, the epicentre of everything that inspires them in working-class Britain

lulu p :)

the whole of Rusholme was reflected in his eyes.

rowanna 

They say you know nothing at eighteen. But there are things you know at eighteen that you will never know again. Morrissey would lose his youth, and not just his youth, but the gusto that took him across the stage with a banner saying The Qucen Is Dcad' is a thing of permanence. We didn't know it at the time, but it was also, for all of us, a tender goodbye, and we would never be those people again. 

The full brass of being. Who knew what time incubated or what life would demonstrate; we were there, beyond navigation, floating through the air. We beamed to the rafters and jumped shoulder to shoulder. And the words we sang were daft and romantic and ripe and British, custom-built for the clear-eyed young.

'In the midst of success we are in failure I said. 'Is that in the Bible?' No, but it should be'

 But the people I grew up with felt glamorous watching flms, listening to records, or reading books written by people who unfolded their lives, who told of the time they loved and che time they died and the time they danced at El Morocco. We loved black-and-white stills depicting the comedy and the tragedy of private life, or of public life gone wrong. The main characters in my childhood believed in realismn in art, they loved quoting from it, but they also loved its very opposite, pitching themselves as far from reality as they could, knowing fine well that life would be all too real on Monday. 

 For a second I floated into privacy: the faraway mood of exhilaration that comes with excess, and I loved the excess, and loved the seeming permissiveness of that night. Who would I call, I wondered, if I stepped into the phone box? And the answer - so free of regret - was no one. I had no one to call and I was quite glad about it. 

céline

I suppose we could have drifted over to the touchline and asked his opinion, but being young is a kind of warfare in which the great enemy is experience.

Helen 

‘I know none of us has a monopoly on grief, but I'm struggling' 

‘We each have a monopoly on our own, I said.

‘It's been my good fortune to share a story with him, I said, 'and that's all we'll ever have. There's no more. Earth is all the heaven well ever know.

He's heading for a life everlasting in a world greater than this one.

I felt a long way from home - in a good way, in a bad way

- and when Tully was gone, the centre was elsewhere. That's teenage love, isn't it - when the party is less fun because your mate is the party?

I think it was a moment of pure honesty, and maybe we were adults for the first time, sitting by that canal in perfect daylight under the moving cranes.

What we had that day was our story. We didn't have the other bit, the future, and we had no way of knowing what that would be like. Perhaps it would change our memory of all this, or perhaps it would draw from it, nobody knew. But I'm sure Ifelt the story of that hall and how we reached it would never vanish.

They say you know nothing at eighteen. But there are things you know at eighteen that you will never know again,

ame 

 "It's hard to think about, I said, but it's coming closer.’’

 ‘'All the important things are hard to think about.’’

It was always a struggle to reach the future, I said.

They say you know nothing at eighteen. But there are things you know at eighteen that you will never know again.

Emma Hak-Kovacs

I bought this book after seeing Carol Ann Duffy's review on the back cover, and I was not left disappointed at all. If in doubt, trust a poet to know good literature. This book captured perfectly the fleeting experience of youth, the nostalgia for a moment you're still living in because you know it will be a memory at the end of the day. It was also such a compelling and beautiful exploration of male friendship, and it's something that I (maybe controversially) think is overlooked in a lot of modern writing, and so it was very enjoyable to read about a good friendship between two men. 

I loved the dichotomy between the first and second halves, where we go from the careless freedom of being a young man, to the harsh realities of your own mortality as you grow older. The first half did such a good job of building up the relationships and the feelings you have towards the characters, and despite people saying the stakes didn't feel high enough, I don't think they were supposed to be. The weekend they spend in Manchester for a music festival was such a vibrant, exciting atmosphere and felt like a reflection of Tully's character at the time, how his passion for life just engulfed everyone around him and they all loved him for it. Nostalgia was the essence of this half for me, because at the back of my mind I had a nagging voice reminding me that this was all going to end, and that Tully would die, and so it was a very bittersweet reading experience.

The jump into the future was quite jarring, but not in a negative way. It was such a stark contrast from the first, going from the lively atmosphere of being in Manchester, shifting into the crushing weight of reality that comes with being an adult. There was such a deep understanding of how friendship can shape the person you are, especially a friend as full of life as Tully is. The understanding between Tully and our main character, Jimmy, was so unbearably real to the point it was painful for me. The grief that comes with knowing something so special was coming to an end much sooner than they'd hoped, and how Tully was slipping through his fingers as we progress towards the end of the novel. The words started to bring a sense of finality that would stab you in the chest. 

Losing someone so important from your childhood is a different kind of grief. It feels like you lose part of yourself as a person, when someone who is practically an extension of you is so cruelly taken from you, yet the knowledge of loss and the future (and impending) death of Tully was handled so gracefully. Tully is more than just a dying man, so much more, and this truly showed us that. Just because someone is dying doesn't mean they are just a sick person, they are the person they have always been and they have been dealt a bad hand in life. His desire to take his life into his own hands and go on his own terms was devastating to read, however you cannot feel anything but respect for him for wanting to stay strong until the very end rather than letting himself become half the man he has always been just to prolong his life by a few more weeks. It absolutely ripped my heart out, and it was so very Tully.

All in all, this was a gorgeous book, and was such a great one to end my month reading. Did I bawl my eyes out? Absolutely. For much longer than I care to admit. But the emotions were so raw and so real it was just the perfect book for me, especially as someone who is grieving important people from childhood.

iris may

I bought this book after seeing Carol Ann Duffy's review on the back cover, and I was not left disappointed at all. If in doubt, trust a poet to know good literature. This book captured perfectly the fleeting experience of youth, the nostalgia for a moment you're still living in because you know it will be a memory at the end of the day. It was also such a compelling and beautiful exploration of male friendship, and it's something that I (maybe controversially) think is overlooked in a lot of modern writing, and so it was very enjoyable to read about a good friendship between two men. 

I loved the dichotomy between the first and second halves, where we go from the careless freedom of being a young man, to the harsh realities of your own mortality as you grow older. The first half did such a good job of building up the relationships and the feelings you have towards the characters, and despite people saying the stakes didn't feel high enough, I don't think they were supposed to be. The weekend they spend in Manchester for a music festival was such a vibrant, exciting atmosphere and felt like a reflection of Tully's character at the time, how his passion for life just engulfed everyone around him and they all loved him for it. Nostalgia was the essence of this half for me, because at the back of my mind I had a nagging voice reminding me that this was all going to end, and that Tully would die, and so it was a very bittersweet reading experience.

Loyalty came easy to Tully. Love was the politics that kept him going.

The jump into the future was quite jarring, but not in a negative way. It was such a stark contrast from the first, going from the lively atmosphere of being in Manchester, shifting into the crushing weight of reality that comes with being an adult. There was such a deep understanding of how friendship can shape the person you are, especially a friend as full of life as Tully is. The understanding between Tully and our main character, Jimmy, was so unbearably real to the point it was painful for me. The grief that comes with knowing something so special was coming to an end much sooner than they'd hoped, and how Tully was slipping through his fingers as we progress towards the end of the novel. The words started to bring a sense of finality that would stab you in the chest. 

We didn't know it at the time, but it was also, for all of us, a tender goodbye, and we would never be those people again.

Losing someone so important from your childhood is a different kind of grief. It feels like you lose part of yourself as a person, when someone who is practically an extension of you is so cruelly taken from you, yet the knowledge of loss and the future (and impending) death of Tully was handled so gracefully. Tully is more than just a dying man, so much more, and this truly showed us that. Just because someone is dying doesn't mean they are just a sick person, they are the person they have always been and they have been dealt a bad hand in life. His desire to take his life into his own hands and go on his own terms was devastating to read, however you cannot feel anything but respect for him for wanting to stay strong until the very end rather than letting himself become half the man he has always been just to prolong his life by a few more weeks. It absolutely ripped my heart out, and it was so very Tully.

He was a friend to friendship itself.

All in all, this was a gorgeous book, and was such a great one to end my month reading. Did I bawl my eyes out? Absolutely. For much longer than I care to admit. But the emotions were so raw and so real it was just the perfect book for me, especially as someone who is grieving important people from childhood.

katie burke

Laura Mauler

Beautiful, beautiful book. Highly recommend.

Mark

Eva Bailey

This book has filled the A Little Life hole in my heart. The first half of the book I didnt want to end, the second half I was dreading the ending. I sobbed and laughed with James and Tully. I adore them and this story.

We say never to judge a book by its cover, yet this cover is exactly the reason I picked Mayflies up. The photo gave me a sense of melancholic nostalgia, making me want to be in on the joke. I was searching for that feeling of free-spirited laughter. And this book delivered, along with so much more. O’Hagan tells the story of a group of friends across two timelines, delving into the world of friendship, class, education, compassion, death, and many, many more topics other authors cannot even touch. My heart ached more and more as I read, and not because of sadness exactly, but due to a sort if “knowing”. I knew the awkwardness of out-grown friendships and aging would be touched on, I knew that someone dying very rarely meets a happy end. And despite this impending sense of gloom, O’Hagan crafted and delivered an absolutely beautiful story. And now I can love Mayflies not only for its cover, but also for the story inside and the questions it brings to the table.

Gareth Kay

The new Andrew O’Hagan novel ‘Mayflies’ is the best thing I’ve read in a long time. Already bought four copies for friends. It’s about friendship, time, the past, present and future. Half of it is based around a pilgrimage to Manchester. It makes you think about what is valuable. “The past isn’t really the past. It’s just music, books and films.” And it becomes even more powerful when you read how real and personal the story is and the novel becomes the most glorious elegy to a friend.

ellie 💐💌⭐️

'An immensely engaging writer: wry and witty, and insightful.' Sunday Times 'A vivid and meticulous writer.' Observer From the widely renowned author Andrew O'Hagan, a heartbreaking novel of an extraordinary lifelong friendship. Everyone has a Tully Dawson: the friend who defines your life. In the summer of 1986, in a small Scottish town, James and Tully ignite a brilliant friendship based on music, films and the rebel spirit. With school over and the locked world of their fathers before them, they rush towards the climax of their youth: a magical weekend in Manchester, the epicentre of everything that inspires them in working-class Britain. There, against the greatest soundtrack ever recorded, a vow is made: to go at life differently. Thirty years on, half a life away, the phone rings. Tully has news. Mayflies is a memorial to youth's euphorias and to everyday tragedy. A tender goodbye to an old union, it discovers the joy and the costs of love.

chateau

Adam

Lydia

Ville

Alex Stelzhammer

Blathnaid

Kaelan Chambers

Helen Bright

Shivam

Emily Monk

alice browne

An unforgettable coming-of-age novel that becomes a profound mediation on life, death, and lifelong friendship. Everyone has a Tully Dawson: the friend who defines your life. In the summer of 1986, in a small Scottish town, James and Tully ignite a brilliant friendship based on music, films and the rebel spirit. With school over and the locked world of their fathers before them, they rush towards the climax of their youth: a magical weekend in Manchester, the epicentre of everything that inspires them in working-class Britain. There, against the greatest soundtrack ever recorded, a vow is made: to go at life differently. Thirty years on, half a life away, the phone rings. Tully has news--news that forces the life-long friends to confront their own mortality head-on. What follows is an incredibly moving examination of the responsibilities and obligations we have to those we love. Mayflies is at once a finely-tuned drama about the delicacy and impermanence of human connection and an urgent inquiry into some of the most important questions of all: Who are we? What do we owe to our friends? And what does it mean to love another person amidst tragedy?

Mayflies

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