A while ago it seemed like everyone and his brother was recommending the Sleeper trade, Out in the Cold, which collects the first six issues of the ongoing series by the same name. So, when my local store added it to the staff recommendations, which come with a nice 15% discount, I really couldn't pass it up. Maybe it's a matter of too much hype. Maybe I'm just not the target audience. Either way, I find myself less than bowled over.

Certainly there are elements of this series worthy of praise. I was enthralled, actually, by artist Sean Phillips' layouts. It seems like most shots are from the same distance, so that Phillips creates his close-ups through a creative use of panel frames rather than an enlargement of the image. The effect actually makes all sorts of thematic sense: here is a story about a man who can't feel anything, who is--by both the nature of his abilities and the nature of his job--distanced from the world. It only makes sense that the reader see things at a distance, too. The sometimes-disjointed nature of these panels also contributes to the feel of a world that only sometimes makes sense.

I have two major problems with the writing, however, and fully admit that one of them is likely just My Problem, but they both impacted my enjoyment of the trade:

Sleeper: Out in the Cold

Problem #1: What's my motivation?

With the trade paperback, a reader has the benefit of learning via back cover copy that Holden Carver, the protagonist, is a deep-cover operative whose only government contact is in a coma. Now, the text of the series proper does start by letting you know that Lynch is in a coma, and that Lynch put Carver undercover in the first place. The final piece however, the high concept around which the series is meant to revolve--namely, that Lynch is the only man who knows Carver still works for the government--doesn't make it into dialogue or narration until what would have been the fifth issue of the original series this trade collects. Then again, the story itself seems to forget what it's about until the same point.

Up until "No Exit" (the fifth issue), Carver is merely a deep cover agent, one whose mission seems to be nothing more than maintaining his cover through whatever means necessary. It's good fodder for setting mood and atmosphere, for establishing just how crazy Carver's life is and how skewed his priorities are, but it also has the effect of making chapter five seem like nothing so much as a sharp, unplanned left. Lynch is in a coma before the first issue of the series begins, but Carver doesn't react to that for so long that, by the time he does, I'm not sure why. Certainly the change in direction--to a proactive Carver trying to reclaim his life--makes for a more compelling narrative and engaging complexity of character, but I can't help feeling annoyed that I had to sit through the four previous issues to get there. Part of that frustration, no doubt, comes from the other big bump I found in Sleeper.

Problem #2: Aren't they always bad girls?

There's a line in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? where Jessica Rabbit, sultry toon that she is, declares "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way." I couldn't help but remember it as Brubaker introduces the only prominent female in the Sleeper cast: Miss Misery.

Miss Misery has to be Bad. Her powers are such that if she's not breaking rules and taboos with reckless abandon, she'll grow violently ill and eventually die. She's currently sleeping with Tao, the underworld boss Carver's meant to be investigating. Tao is cold and heartless and would kill her if she slept around. So, you see, because of her condition, Misery has no choice but to fuck Carver's brains out, hopefully in public settings where they risk discovery.

Good God, shoot me now.

I realize that the Bad Girl is a staple of both espionage and noir fiction, but frankly I've never understood what it is about espionage or noir that requires such characters, or that requires them to be women. Carver gets to the top through guile, cunning, and a plot device or two. Misery's position in the organization, it seems clearly implied, is not inconsequentially connected to her positions in the bedroom. That Misery is compelled by some meta-human condition doesn't make this new, edgy, or even interesting; rather, it underscores the fact that, like Jessica Rabbit before her, Misery is merely a two-dimensional construct rather than an actual character. Brubaker needed a Bad Girl, so he made one, and he made sure she'd stay that way through the magic of metahuman sci-fi rules.

I suppose you could argue that the misogyny is merely indicative of the world Carver's fallen into, one that doesn't have to worry about EOE regulations or sexual harassment suits, and which thus continues to play at the Old Boy network. I think I'd have to bring that to the text, however, especially given that, when we meet Carver's ex-fiance in flashback, the sole character trait of the Good Girl is also a predilection for sex in public places. Meanwhile, even supporting male characters like the abusive Genocide have some level of humanity (he goes into a rage when he discovers another character molesting a young boy). I can't help but think Misery and the parade of (sometimes literally) mute prostitutes are just a lot of lazy writing.

Like I said, my pre-occupation with Miss Misery may be a hang-up unique to me, but it was a distraction nonetheless. That and the late-in-the-game revelation of the series' premise made for an at-times entertaining but ultimately flawed read.

Tags: comics, reviews