The Diamond as Big as the Ritz

Braddock Washington is the novella’s primary antagonist and the most explicit embodiment of unchecked wealth and moral absolutism. As the patriarch of the Washington family, he exercises total authority over both the people and the estate, presiding over an empire sustained by secrecy, manipulation, and violence. The physical description of Braddock—“a proud, vacuous face, intelligent eyes, and a robust figure” (113)—captures his intellectual capability paired with ethical emptiness. His opal-topped walking stick is a symbolic prop, merging refinement with ostentatious wealth and reinforcing his self-conception as both ruler and arbiter of the Washingtons’ world.

Braddock’s worldview is revealed through his speech, which is marked by cold rationalization and moral inversion. He consistently frames cruelty as necessity, declaring that “cruelty doesn’t exist where self-preservation is involved” (116), a statement that collapses ethical boundaries in favor of self-interest. His treatment of the imprisoned aviators further demonstrates this logic; he presents himself as reasonable and generous while denying them freedom or life. The satire sharpens moments where Braddock equates human beings with threats or commodities, most notably when he likens fairness toward the prisoners to “a Spaniard being fair-minded towards a piece of steak” (116). Such language reveals the depth of his dehumanization and his belief that power justifies domination.

Braddock’s attempted bargain with God represents the culmination of his moral delusion. By assuming that divine authority operates according to economic exchange—“God had His price” (133)—he extends capitalist logic into the spiritual realm. His failure to recognize any power beyond wealth ultimately leads to his destruction. Braddock remains a static character throughout the novella; he does not evolve or repent. Instead, the narrative presents him as a cautionary figure whose unwavering belief in wealth as absolute power ensures his annihilation when that illusion finally collapses.

Percy Washington operates as a foil to John and a study in the normalization of immorality under extreme privilege. Unlike his father, Percy does not articulate a philosophy of domination; instead, he accepts the Washington family’s practices as natural and unquestionable. Introduced as quiet, polished, and emotionally reserved, Percy initially appears less threatening than Braddock. However, this surface mildness conceals a deeper ethical emptiness. His casual revelations about secrecy, surveillance, and violence are delivered without hesitation or discomfort, suggesting that these realities have been fully absorbed into his worldview.

The narrative characterizes Percy through understatement and contrast. His understated tone when discussing extraordinary wealth—referring to the jeweled automobile as “just an old junk we use for a station wagon” (97)—illustrates how excess has become mundane for him. Percy’s lack of curiosity or moral struggle distinguishes him from John, whose reactions oscillate between awe and horror. While John questions and recoils, Percy explains and adapts. This difference establishes Percy as a static character whose ethical framework has been fully shaped by inheritance rather than experience.

Kismine Washington is Percy’s sister and John’s romantic interest, embodying the emotional distortions produced by extreme wealth and isolation. Presented as youthful, charming, and seemingly innocent, Kismine captivates John through her beauty and vulnerability. Yet Fitzgerald quickly complicates this image by revealing her deeply skewed moral framework. Her insistence on her own innocence—emphasizing that she is “very innocent and girlish” and avoids sophistication (112)—ironically highlights her ignorance rather than her purity.

Kismine’s characterization relies heavily on the contrast between her emotional expression and moral understanding. She is capable of affection and excitement, yet she discusses murder with unsettling calm. Her admission that previous guests were killed to protect the family’s secret exposes the extent to which violence has been normalized in her upbringing. Death is treated as “inevitable” and therefore secondary to enjoyment. The novella uses this dissonance to satirize the way privilege reshapes emotional priorities, allowing Kismine to experience genuine feeling while remaining detached from consequence.

Despite these traits, Kismine is not portrayed as wholly monstrous. Her fear during the attack on the estate and her eagerness to escape suggest a latent desire for freedom, even if she romanticizes its meaning. Her excited declaration—that being “free and poor” sounds like fun (129)—underscores her continued detachment from reality. Kismine remains largely static, but her presence is essential to John’s transformation. Through her, the narrative illustrates how wealth corrupts not only power structures but intimacy itself, rendering love inseparable from wealth’s illusion and danger.

Jasmine Washington is Percy and Kismine’s sister, and she reinforces the emotional distortions cultivated within the Washington household. While physically similar to Kismine, John notes that Jasmine is more emotionally detached than her sister. She is preoccupied with status, tradition, and idealized narratives of femininity, particularly through her fixation on wartime heroism and social presentation. Her disappointment over the end of World War I—because it deprived her of an opportunity for meaningful social participation—reveals a disconnect between her understanding of real suffering and personal ambition.

Jasmine most exemplifies the family’s emotional detachment with her tendency to invite guests to the estate despite knowing their fate. Unlike Kismine, who expresses intermittent guilt, Jasmine appears to rationalize this violence as routine. Through Jasmine, the narrative illustrates how repeated exposure to privilege and secrecy erodes empathy over time. She remains a static character, embodying the long-term effects of moral insulation and reinforcing the idea that emotional numbness is the Washington family’s defining inheritance.

Mrs. Washington is a figure of emotional absence whose presence reinforces the rigid hierarchy of the Washington household. She is distant, reserved, and largely disengaged from both her daughters, directing her attention almost exclusively toward Percy. Her frequent use of Spanish, her native language, and her aloof demeanor create a sense of separation. The narrative offers little insight into her inner life, instead emphasizing her role as a stabilizing force for Braddock’s authority.

As a static character, Mrs. Washington represents passive complicity. She does not initiate violence, yet she benefits from and accepts the system that sustains her lifestyle. Her silence and emotional withdrawal suggest a form of moral abdication, allowing brutality to continue without challenge. Through Mrs. Washington, the novella demonstrates how ethical corruption is often maintained through indifference and retreat.

Mr. and Mrs. Unger, John’s parents, live in Hades and function as representative figures of provincial aspiration and uncritical reverence for wealth. Though they appear briefly, their influence on John’s worldview is foundational. They are characterized through their actions and values rather than interiority: Mrs. Unger packs her son’s trunk with impractical luxuries, while Mr. Unger gifts him “an asbestos pocket-book stuffed with money” (92). These gestures signal their belief that material comfort and financial security are the primary markers of success. Their pride in sending John to an elite New England school reflects “that respect for a New England education which is the bane of all provincial places” (92), positioning them as participants in a cultural hierarchy that they admire but do not control.

As static characters, the Ungers lay the ideological groundwork that makes John susceptible to the Washingtons’ world. They worship wealth without possessing it, treating money as moral insulation rather than a tool. Their insistence that John remember “who [he is] and where [he comes] from” ironically prepares him to abandon both in favor of social elevation (92). Through them, the novella critiques the aspirational mindset that reveres extreme wealth unquestioningly.

Gygsum and the unnamed enslaved people of the Washington estate are static characters whose situation illustrates the family’s dehumanizing and exploitative behaviors. They and their families have been manipulated for generations with an immense and cruel deception. The narrative deliberately withholds interiority and personal identity from these figures, reflecting the way they are perceived and treated within the Washingtons’ world. Gygsum, who attends to John’s daily needs, is defined almost entirely through service and physical presence, reinforcing the power imbalance that governs the estate. His polite speech and constant availability emphasize how his humanity has been subsumed into an extension of luxury itself.

The language used to describe the enslaved people is intentionally disturbing, exposing the moral grotesqueness of the Washington family’s system. Braddock Washington refers to them as property, assigning monetary value to their lives and casually discussing their deaths in economic terms. The satirical aspect of the narrative emerges through the stark contrast between the estate’s elegance and the brutal logic sustaining it. The enslaved people on the estate are denied agency, freedom, and even individuality, and by presenting these figures collectively, the text demonstrates the normalization of injustice rather than individual suffering alone. Their lack of narrative voice mirrors their lack of power, reinforcing the idea that extreme wealth depends on the erasure of identity, autonomy, and moral accountability.