Avni Doshi’s new novel: A woman’s husband tells her he wants a divorce. She thought they were happy

A time-lapse video of a moulting cicada showed the creature attaching itself to a vertical surface. It seemed to quiver endlessly before at last breaking open along the back of its body. Another being, a transparent phantom, emerged from the shell.

The imago. A sexually mature adult, the fifth and final instar of the cicada life cycle. The imago grew under its old skin. In this new form, it had red eyes. Its wings were crumpled, wet. Rocking back and forth, it found its way free. In this ritual of becoming, nothing could be rushed. The wings filled with air, opening as the wetness that weighed them down evaporated.

The cicada laboured for more than an hour to birth its new body. The video that we were watching condensed it into five minutes. Even then, the girls grew impatient. The sight of the insect rising from itself was boring – they wished someone would help it out and didn’t understand when I said it was wrong to interfere. Unaccustomed to watching exertion, they moved away to do other things.

As terrifying as the insect was, I felt protective of it, its perseverance, its utter vulnerability. It reminded me of the book I was trying...

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