After one better than many Gothics, Plagemann has written an almost peerless idiocy which takes place in a Now (sable scarves?) and never world from Rome to a cloister in Amish country when Amy is summoned by her frequently married mother who doesn't admit that she's her daughter at all. In fact locks her in her room. Before she's through Amy discovers that her mother is on vodka, cigarettes, morphine and her last legs. . . . Perhaps the best way to be at Wolfe's Cloister.