Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

A wonderful introduction to pessimistic philosophy and nihilist literature for little ones.

I hadn’t read this since I was a kid, but I knew what to expect. Alexander was going to have a bad day, but on the last page he would go to bed and dream sweet dreams and wake up to a better tomorrow. “It’s okay to have bad days. We will have a better one tomorrow.” That’s not what I found; the ending shook me to my very core.

I cracked it open with my two year old son last night and to my surprise, even though the illustrations are black and white and it takes awhile to flip the pages, he sat rapt the whole time. Alexander woke up with gum in his hair, he tripped on his skateboard, and he dropped his sweater in the sink. He got the worst seat in the car on the way to school, and the school day was more of the same: suffering, drudgery, and existential pain. He lost his best friend, his mom forgot to pack him dessert, and after school he went to the dentist, who discovered a cavity.

Throughout all this, Alexander had hope, and his hope had a name. Australia. When something terribly horrible happened to Alexander, he’d think to himself, “Tomorrow, I’m going to go to Australia.” It’s a refrain he repeated to himself often throughout the day, and it’s the only way he got through the torment. Australia was his land of milk and honey; no matter how bad this is right now, I can always go to Australia where everything will be alright.

But at the end of the day, after he’s tucked himself into his bed of sorrows, his mother pecks him on his cheek and delivers this final blow: some days are like this. Some days just kick you in the pants, over and over again. “Even in Australia.“

You can imagine Alexander’s psyche shattering at this point. Australia is supposed to be the one place that is safe! Australia is the escape from the terror, the horror, the no good, very bad slog of daily existence! But pain permeates everything and knows no bounds. It is all.

The final image of the book is Alexander in his bed, inexpressible anguish on his face, as if an invisible hand is wrapped around his neck. This is the bed that has been made for him, and he must lie in it.

There is no escape. There is no relief.

There is no Australia.