This morning dawned brilliantly. A wide blue sky and a spring sun already beginning to warm the atmosphere, causing more of our accumulated snow to melt. From our backyard, the incomparably beautiful trill of a pin-striped song sparrow.

Last night I read in bed until 2:00 a.m. I'm reading The Ancient Ship, by Zhang Wei, translated from the original Chinese into English. It is a little different than most Chinese-translated novels I've read of recent vintage. And it is a compelling read.

My granddaughter, like her grandfather and grandmother, is an avid reader. She has also become an excellent writer. When she has a school assignment to write an essay - she has just completed the American classic To Kill A Mockingbird - it becomes a credible critical work, her perceptions well realized and her ability to convey her impressions a credit to a fourteen-year-old girl.

She would, I fear, find little to interest her, nor would she have the patience, to read The Ancient Ship, although her literate tastes will have ample time to mature. The novel represents a fascinating narrative of a small, isolated village graphically portraying clan rivalries and the tides of history pulling its citizens into an eddy of swirling circumstances beyond their control. Most of all, though it is the universal characterization of peoples' own passions betraying their futures that grasp one's attention.

"Everything was ruined by people who knew nothing about water" Sui Buzhao bellowed, his body twisting in the hay. "After Uncle Zheng He died, the goddamn ships, all eight or ten of them, sank, killing all those people. There were cracks in our hull and we tried to stop the leaks with our bare bodies. They didn't trust the Classic of the Waterway, so they deserved to die, disregarding even the life of the helmsman. How the hell could it end well? I puked until there was nothing but bitter bile in my stomach, and the barnacles cut me bloody when I went down to stop up the leaks. I bled while reciting the Classic of the Waterway until I was hoarse. the ship sailed to Qiyant zhou, and as stated in the book: 'You must fix your direction with care and make no mistakes in your calculation. The ship cannot veer. If it heaves to the west it will run aground, so you must heave east. If you heave too far to the east the water will be dark and clear, with many gulls and petrels. If you heave too far to the west, the water will be crystal clear, afloat with driftwood and many flying fish. If the ship is on the right course, the tails of birds will point the way. When the ship nears Wailuo, seven geng to the east will be Wanli Shitang, where there are low red rock formations. The water is shallow if you can see the side of the boat and you must be careful if you see rocks. From the fourth to the eighth month, the water flows southwest, and the currents are quite strong ...' but no one paid any attention. These men finally had to cry when the waves rose up around midnight. It was useless to cut the mast, for the current ripped the ship apart. I'll curse them for the rest of my life because of what happened to that ship."