In the chaotic, smoky apartment where Tom Buchanan keeps his mistress, F. Scott Fitzgerald introduces Mr. and Mrs. McKee.
This couple’s brief appearance in The Great Gatsby offers a crucial snapshot of middle-class aspiration and Jazz Age anxiety.
As the downstairs neighbors at Myrtle Wilson’s party, their actions and Nick Carraway’s unsettling encounter with them reveal the novel’s deep thematic undercurrents.
Our Ageless Investing character analysis of Mr. and Mrs. McKee argues they are a microcosm of social striving and performative identity. We contend that through Chester’s “pale, feminine” artistic ambition and Lucille’s image-obsessed superficiality, Fitzgerald crafts a poignant critique of a class desperate for a foothold in a world of careless wealth.
Furthermore, the ambiguities surrounding their interactions with Nick often expose overlooked subtextual layers of the novel concerning social surveillance and coded sexuality. By deconstructing their single, dense scene, we illuminate their profound significance.
For essential plot context, please consult our summary of The Great Gatsby.
Note: This analysis delves into the McKees’ appearance and symbolic role in The Great Gatsby and will necessarily discuss plot developments and critical interpretations of Chapter 2. Reader discretion is advised.
The Aspirational Couple: A Portrait of Middle-Class Striving
The McKees enter the narrative as a unit; their shared presence at Myrtle’s party immediately signals their desire to connect with the world of wealth and influence represented by Tom Buchanan. In this section, we analyze their collective function as social climbers and what their interactions reveal about the anxieties of their class.
“The Artistic Game”: Using Art as a Vehicle for Social Mobility
Mr. and Mrs. McKee leverage Chester’s profession as a photographer, what he calls the “artistic game,” as their primary tool for attempting to ingratiate themselves with the powerful and wealthy Tom.
Chester peppers his conversation with attempts to turn his art into a business opportunity, telling Tom, “‘I’d like to do more work on Long Island if I could get the entry. All I ask is that they should give me a start’” [Chapter 2, Page 33]. His portfolio, with uninspired titles like “‘Montauk Point—the Gulls,’” symbolizes his lack of genuine artistic vision; his focus is less on creative expression and more on using his art as a commodity to gain social access.
Lucille acts as his relentless promoter, fawning over Myrtle’s dress and suggesting, “‘If Chester could only get you in that pose I think he could make something of it’” [Chapter 2, Page 31]. Their “art” is not about capturing truth, but about capturing the attention of the right people.
A Performative Partnership: The Dynamic of the McKee Marriage
Chester and Lucille’s marriage appears to be a performative partnership, a strategic alliance where each plays a role designed to maximize their collective social advancement. Lucille constantly promotes Chester’s work, while Chester provides the “artistic” credibility they hope will grant them entry into higher social circles.
Their interactions at the party, such as their shared flattery of Myrtle and their attempts to engage Tom, feel less like the behavior of a loving couple and more like a well-rehearsed team executing a social strategy.
This dynamic, built on mutual ambition rather than apparent affection, serves as a less volatile but equally transactional counterpoint to the other relationships in the novel. The McKees represent a marriage as a small-scale enterprise, dedicated to the business of social climbing.
A Study in Gender Performance: The “Feminine Man” and the “Horrible” Woman
Fitzgerald uses Nick’s sharp, often judgmental, descriptions to paint a vivid picture of the McKees as individuals. In this section, we’ll deconstruct the specific gendered performances of Chester and Lucille, exploring what they reveal about Jazz Age anxieties surrounding masculinity, femininity, and class.
Chester McKee: Artistic Pretension and Ambiguous Masculinity
Chester McKee’s characterization as a “pale, feminine man from the flat below” [Chapter 2, Page 30] immediately challenges the novel’s dominant model of masculinity embodied by the brutish Tom Buchanan. His profession as a photographer, his “artistic” sensibilities, and his fawning behavior towards Tom position him as a non-traditional male figure.
This “feminine” characterization has been central to critical interpretations of the novel’s subtext. His sensitivity and artistic leanings, which might be valued in other contexts, are here presented through Nick’s lens as making him seem pale and out of place in a world that respects Tom’s aggressive virility.
His lack of artistic talent emphasizes his inability to develop a strong identity, leaving him in a state of social and masculine ambiguity.
Lucille McKee: Narcissism, Flattery, and Casual Prejudice
Lucille McKee embodies a different, yet equally performative, strategy for social navigation. Nick’s paradoxical description of her as “shrill, languid, handsome and horrible” [Chapter 2, Page 30] captures her contradictory nature.
Her primary tool is flattery, seen when she gushes over Myrtle’s dress: “‘I like your dress… I think it’s adorable’” [Chapter 2, Page 31]. Her obsession with her image is revealed in her pride at having been photographed by her husband “a hundred and twenty-seven times” [Chapter 2, Page 30], a detail that resonates with modern concepts of curated identity.
But her character is also tainted by the casual prejudices of her social stratum. Her use of an antisemitic slur to describe a man she “almost married” [Chapter 2, Page 34] is delivered without a second thought, revealing the ugly undercurrents of the society she aspires to join.
Lucille represents the unpleasant side of social climbing, where flattery, narcissism, and prejudice are all tools for advancement.
The Unspoken Subtext: Analyzing the Ambiguous End of Chapter 2
The party scene concludes with one of the novel’s most debated and ambiguous sequences, involving Nick, Mr. McKee, and an elevator operator. In this section, we’ll perform a close reading of these final moments, exploring the critical interpretations they invite regarding coded sexuality, social surveillance, and Nick’s narrative reliability.
“Keep your hands off the lever”: The Elevator Operator as Social Guardian
As Nick and Mr. McKee leave the party and descend in the elevator, a brief, sharp exchange occurs that’s rich with subtext.
The elevator boy “snapped” at McKee, “‘Keep your hands off the lever’” [Chapter 2, Page 37]. McKee’s dignified but flustered denial, “‘I didn’t know I was touching it,’” only heightens the tension. This moment can be interpreted as an instance of “service worker surveillance,” where a member of the working class acts as an enforcer of social and moral boundaries.
The operator’s aggressive tone suggests he has observed or suspects improper behavior, possibly a sexual advance by McKee towards Nick. In the confined, intimate space of the elevator, the operator polices a perceived transgression, highlighting how those in service positions often possessed an intimate, and sometimes judgmental, knowledge of their social superiors’ private lives.
The Missing Wife & The Bedroom Scene: A Narrative Gap Inviting Interpretation
Fitzgerald masterfully uses an ellipsis and a jarring narrative leap to create one of the novel’s most significant ambiguities.
Immediately after the elevator scene, Nick’s narration jumps, indicated by the ellipsis: “… I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands” [Chapter 2, Page 38]. The text doesn’t explain how Nick got from the elevator to Mr. McKee’s bedroom.
This deliberate narrative gap has fueled decades of critical interpretation, particularly from a queer theory perspective, suggesting a potential homoerotic encounter between Nick and McKee that Nick either cannot fully remember due to being drunk or consciously chooses to omit from his otherwise detailed account.
The combination of McKee’s “feminine” characterization, Nick wiping the dried lather from Mr. McKee’s face, following him out the door, the elevator boy’s warning, and Nick’s presence in McKee’s bedroom creates a powerful subtext of unspoken desire and repression
Crucially, Lucille McKee is absent from this final, intimate sequence. Her disappearance from the narrative at this precise moment is a significant authorial choice that deepens the scene’s ambiguity.
This “strategic absence,” as some critics might frame it, invites several interpretations. Was she engaged elsewhere in the party’s chaos, or passed out from the alcohol? Or does her absence suggest a marital arrangement of convenience, one where each partner tacitly allows the other a degree of private freedom?
Given their earlier teamwork in social climbing, it’s plausible to interpret their marriage as a pragmatic partnership where such arrangements might exist. Her absence facilitates the private, charged moment between the two men, leaving the reader to question whether she’s merely an oblivious spouse or a complicit partner in a marriage that prioritizes social appearance over conventional fidelity.
This unanswered question about Mrs. McKee’s whereabouts makes the scene even more unsettling and further complicates our understanding of Nick’s reliability as a narrator who presents this strange tableau without full explanation.
A Portrait of Pretension in a Hollow World
Mr. and Mrs. McKee, in their single, vivid appearance in The Great Gatsby, offer a masterclass in character efficiency. They’re a poignant and slightly pathetic portrait of middle-class aspiration, desperately trying to find a foothold in the slippery world of wealth and influence.
Through their performative marriage, Chester’s mediocre art, Lucille’s casual prejudice, and the unsettling ambiguity of their final scene with Nick, they reveal the anxieties and moral compromises of those on the social margins.
More than just party guests, they are a crucial foil to the effortless entitlement of the Buchanans and as a catalyst for revealing the complexities and potential unreliability of Nick Carraway’s narration.
The McKees are a concentrated symbol of a society obsessed with surfaces, where artistic and social pretension pose as genuine substance. Their brief, strange story enriches Fitzgerald’s social critique, proving that the most revealing truths are often found not in the grand mansions but in the cramped apartments of those looking on with longing.
To understand the world the McKees aspired to join, see our analysis of their host, Myrtle Wilson.
A Note on Page Numbers & Edition:
We carefully sourced textual references for this analysis from The Great Gatsby: The Only Authorized Edition (Scribner, November 17, 2020), ISBN-13: 978-1982149482. Just as Mr. McKee attempted to capture a perfect image, page numbers for specific events can vary across different printings. Always double-check against your copy to ensure accuracy for essays or citations.
Jeremy Mortis, founder of Ageless Investing, applies a rigorous analytical approach (the AAM framework) to distill timeless wisdom and contextualized quotes from classic literature, saving you time while deepening understanding. Learn more about Jeremy’s unique background and methodology on his author bio page.