My Harrison Ford

by Ottessa Moshfegh

I still needed a strong male lead. Someone in his mid-to-late forties, a kind of Harrison Ford type. I'd always thought Harrison Ford looked a bit like Walter, handsome, strong, vulnerable, and sensitive, a man with an intuitive sensibility, a mind reader of sorts, someone successful, debonair, distinguished. That kind of man could get away with anything. My Harrison Ford might be an avaricious landlord, making uncouth deals in darkened alleys or the back rooms of jazz clubs, but always with the highest moral agenda, always with a warm heart. And he'd have a posse of good-natured underlings at his beck and call.


Ottessa Moshfegh is an American author. Her six sentences are excerpted from Death in Her Hands, her newest novel.