Irene Solà’s When I Sing, Mountains Dance is a gorgeous and masterful novel—I adored every page.  Each chapter is narrated by a different member of a small community in the Catalan Pyrenees, be they people, animals, or nature.  Folklore is steeped in a luscious brew of mountain air and poetry, and, as decades pass, the characters’ lives grow around a few central tragedies like plants searching for light.  Solà’s unique storytelling through the nonhuman is so clever and utterly visceral.