The Doorbells of Florence - A Review

Author: Andrew Losowsky
Publisher: Lulu.com
ISBN: N/A
Pages: 138

I’ll start out by saying I have been to Florence, Italy (or Firenze as it is called in the local parlance) and I was thoroughly bowled over by the remarkable architecture, exquisite food and wine, and the hospitality and amiableness of not a few well-mannered Italians. Florence itself stood out most among the three cities I visited that year, so it should come as no surprise that Andrew Losowsky’s book, The Doorbells of Florence, piqued my interest immediately.

Upon scrolling to the first page of the first story, I am greeted by a photo of the first doorbell, a rusty, weathered, worn beauty—if there even is such a thing—and my eyes glance at the apartment numbers running vertically along the panel: N. 6, N. 4, N. 3, N. 2, N. 1. Great! Then comes page one of the actual story, and I see the familiar Italian language displaying the name of the short story itself, which is essentially the address of the apartment house in question—Borgo San Fergiano, 27. Well and fine. Then I read the first line of this unique opus: “She lived at number five and she didn’t exist.” Partially intrigued, I head back to the photo that introduces this story and I glance at the list of apartments again. There is no N. 5. I am now hooked. That is all it took to draw me into the taught, sticky web of this fascinating book.

In his query, Andrew Losowsky tells me that, upon visiting Florence, he came across a doorbell that he liked and ended up taking a photo of it. This happened again, and yet again, until he had what could have passed for a decent album, or portfolio. After sitting on the photos for a year, he started to study them again, and stories began to form in his mind; stories that related specifically to each image. Doorbells of Florence is the result of that exercise, and it is a spectacular achievement, to say the least.

The stories themselves are very short, with some topping out at a mere page and a half, and a few swelling to just two little paragraphs (the shortest story amounts to only five words), but what is surprising is that, despite their seemingly limited lengths, the characters in many of these stories go through a range of emotions, and actually experience arcs. The second story, for instance, has Paolo Cesarini lying in bed the day after he loses his job, and we are told that he is uneasy about the change in his circumstances. We then see him descend into passable madness, envisioning an imaginary friend who appears on day four of his jobless, apartment-bound mental odyssey. He develops the habit of binge eating, perhaps as a form of therapy. He experiences a positive change by dragging himself out of the house, visiting a bar, and meeting new people. He manages to fall in and out of love, and thereafter retreats “into himself again.” And by the end of the story, he is offered a new job, which he immediately accepts, and the very next day he wakes up a new man. And none of this is awkward in delivery.

Losowsky’s narrative style is smooth and supple, as he is able to move about with great ease within the confines of his stories—that is, whenever his characters aren’t leading him. The stories are light and airy, even playfully impulsive; and this is the beauty of the book. But it probably wouldn’t have been possible without those wonderful photos; they are the early spark of this literary inferno.

The following is one of the aforementioned two-paragraph stories, told in a manner that is forcefully expressive, and it is a complete tale unto itself:

There are more than 30 doorbells at the Raven Club. You ring one and then wait. If you’re lucky and there’s space, they’ll buzz you in.

By the time you’ve walked to the gentle strains of lounge jazz down the two flights of black iron spiral stairs, the drink you rang for at the door is waiting on the bar, ready-mixed by a genial artisan who is only known as Joe.

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Please take a moment to browse Andrew Losowsky’s doorbell images in his Flicktion collection.