From Publishers Weekly
Psychics and their abilities make for good television: their dreams and visions can easily be translated into colorful onscreen visuals. In print, however, the mystical quality doesn't always translate. Regina Milbourne's experiences in South Beach, with the help of journalist Carey, have been rendered clinical and distant, as in such expository passages as, "I am a certified professional tarot and palm reader, astrologist, clairvoyant, and medium. The money I charge reflects how much the client can afford and the work involved." Even though this psychic claims to help her often desperate clients achieve their goals-among them having an orgasm or bringing back the dead-the author's emphasis on putting a monetary value to prayer, homespun mixtures and spells, or how to charge $12,000 to help someone have a baby come across more as con tactics than spiritual pursuit. It's more than a little dispiriting that a subject so intrinsically fascinating should be so lacking in magic-time and again, Milbourne's gift is reduced to a cash transaction. Lacking the heart or soul necessary to conjure up much excitement, this memoir illuminates just how lucrative the psychic profession can be, but little more.
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