You know who else likes publishing books to tell elaborate stories about goings on in the afterlife? Sylvia Browne. Her most recent attempt to
take make money was called Afterlives of the Rich and Famous. I flipped through a copy of it at work recently, but I think the critical reviews are better than the actual book:
You have GOT to be kidding. Seriously. How can any reasonably intelligent person believe this woo-woo nonsense, that the Clawed One has an invisible spirit buddy named Francine who’s got the inside story on the postmortem frolickings of deceased celebrities? Not only is this totally unproven and unprovable rubbish, but it’s insulting to the memory of these dead entertainers and public figures. Reading this was painful and tedious, but all part of the grind. James Randi is right about this woman.
I happen to be in constant communication with several deceased celebrities myself, and I can tell you they are not happy at all with this book.
First of all, Michael Jackson has told me that he would never allow Sylvia Browne to watch one of his concerts in The Great Cloud. (That’s what those on the underside refer to Heaven as). …
All in all a very inaccurate book.
Was this review helpful to you? Why yes, I needed a good laugh…