The Repairer Of Reputations Summary
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A Comprehensive Summary and Analysis of The King in Yellow
Robert W. Chambers’ The King in Yellow is a collection of interconnected short stories, weaving together themes of cosmic horror, forbidden knowledge, and the corrupting influence of power. The book's title refers to a fictional play, "The King in Yellow", that drives those who read its second act to madness. Chambers uses the play, and its associated symbols like the Yellow Sign and the city of Carcosa, to create an atmosphere of creeping dread and unsettling ambiguity. The stories alternate between seemingly realistic settings, often Belle Époque Paris, and fantastical narratives that blur the lines between reality and nightmare, leaving the reader questioning what is real and what is the product of the play's insidious influence.
The Handbook of Communication and Corporate Reputation
Author: Craig E. Carroll
language: en
Publisher: John Wiley & Sons
Release Date: 2015-06-22
With the latest insights from the world of communication studies into the nature of corporate reputation, this new addition to Wiley-Blackwell’s series of handbooks on communication and media reflects the growing visibility of large businesses’ ethical profiles, and tracks the benefits that positive public attitudes can bring. Serves as the definitive research collection for a fast-growing field featuring contributions by key international scholars Brings together state-of-the-art communication studies insights on corporate reputation Identifies and addresses the lacunae in the research literature Applies new theoretical frameworks to corporate reputation
The Demoiselle D'Ys
Author: Robert William Chambers
language: en
Publisher: Library of Alexandria
Release Date: 2020-09-28
ÊThe utter desolation of the scene began to have its effect; I sat down to face the situation and, if possible, recall to mind some landmark which might aid me in extricating myself from my present position. If I could only find the ocean again all would be clear, for I knew one could see the island of Groix from the cliffs. I laid down my gun, and kneeling behind a rock lighted my pipe. Then I looked at my watch. It was nearly four oÕclock. I might have wandered far from Kerselec since daybreak. Standing the day before on the cliffs below Kerselec with Goulven, looking out over the sombre moors among which I had now lost my way, these downs had appeared to me level as a meadow, stretching to the horizon, and although I knew how deceptive is distance, I could not realize that what from Kerselec seemed to be mere grassy hollows were great valleys covered with gorse and heather, and what looked like scattered boulders were in reality enormous cliffs of granite. ÒItÕs a bad place for a stranger,Ó old Goulven had said; ÒyouÕd better take a guide;Ó and I had replied, ÒI shall not lose myself.Ó Now I knew that I had lost myself, as I sat there smoking, with the sea-wind blowing in my face. On every side stretched the moorland, covered with flowering gorse and heath and granite boulders. There was not a tree in sight, much less a house. After a while, I picked up the gun, and turning my back on the sun tramped on again. There was little use in following any of the brawling streams which every now and then crossed my path, for, instead of flowing into the sea, they ran inland to reedy pools in the hollows of the moors. I had followed several, but they all led me to swamps or silent little ponds from which the snipe rose peeping and wheeled away in an ecstasy of fright. I began to feel fatigued, and the gun galled my shoulder in spite of the double pads. The sun sank lower and lower, shining level across yellow gorse and the moorland pools. As I walked my own gigantic shadow led me on, seeming to lengthen at every step. The gorse scraped against my leggings, crackled beneath my feet, showering the brown earth with blossoms, and the brake bowed and billowed along my path. From tufts of heath rabbits scurried away through the bracken, and among the swamp grass I heard the wild duckÕs drowsy quack. Once a fox stole across my path, and again, as I stooped to drink at a hurrying rill, a heron flapped heavily from the reeds beside me. I turned to look at the sun. It seemed to touch the edges of the plain. When at last I decided that it was useless to go on, and that I must make up my mind to spend at least one night on the moors, I threw myself down thoroughly fagged out. The evening sunlight slanted warm across my body, but the sea-winds began to rise, and I felt a chill strike through me from my wet shooting-boots. High overhead gulls were wheeling and tossing like bits of white paper; from some distant marsh a solitary curlew called. Little by little the sun sank into the plain, and the zenith flushed with the after-glow. I watched the sky change from palest gold to pink and then to smouldering fire. Clouds of midges danced above me, and high in the calm air a bat dipped and soared. My eyelids began to droop. Then as I shook off the drowsiness a sudden crash among the bracken roused me. I raised my eyes. A great bird hung quivering in the air above my face. For an instant I stared, incapable of motion; then something leaped past me in the ferns and the bird rose, wheeled, and pitched headlong into the brake.