Speechless
Creator: Aron Nels Steinke
Publisher: Scholastic – Graphix
Publication Date: March 2025
Several years back, I delved into the first installment of the Mr. Wolf’s Class series and was instantly captivated by its vibrancy and positivity. Aron Nels Steinke‘s universe resonated with a genuineness that only comes around so often, and his narrative effortlessly breathed life into an elementary school classroom, radiating an energy that only that environment can provide.
Those books are defined by their warmth, good humor, and the subtle yet impactful dramas that characterize childhood friendships and school experiences. There’s a delightful charm in Steinke’s portrayal of everyday situations, especially the quiet triumphs of learning something new and the tensions and resolutions that unfold throughout the pages. These comics weren’t merely an enjoyable read; they encapsulated an unfeigned and serious essence of childhood in a way that felt intangible but instantly nostalgic. Sure, while the storytelling was light-hearted, beneath the straightforward situations and humor laid a profound understanding of how young people can navigate and build from the challenges in their lives.
Basically, all of this is to say that I was intrigued when Steinke announced Speechless (Graphix), an original graphic novel that doesn’t take place in the Mr. Wolf series but still focuses on the travails of a young student. How could he apply that same sensibility to a more introspective and expansive narrative?
Well, I needn’t have had any hesitancy. Speechless is a touching and beautifully illustrated comic that traverses the challenges of middle school and the unseen struggles many children face. The story follows Mira, a sixth-grader dealing with selective mutism, which makes it difficult for her to speak in certain social settings, even though she is quite talkative at home. To cope with her difficulties, Mira channels her creativity into a clandestine stop-motion animation channel, where she crafts unique puppets and offbeat scripts that portray her unique voice.
Of course, this being a comedy of errors, Mira’s struggles only intensify when her former best friend, Chloe, moves into her home. Once inseparable, the two must now navigate lingering resentments and shifting dynamics. At school, Mira finds an unexpected ally in Alex, a nonbinary classmate who stands by her during moments of bullying and partners with her on a school project. Through Mira’s journey, Steinke thoughtfully portrays her therapy sessions, capturing her gradual progress from whispering to Alex to finding the courage to speak in class.
Steinke, who perhaps grew up with undiagnosed selective mutism himself, brings a deep authenticity to Mira’s experience. Speechless doesn’t rely on dramatic breakthroughs or forced resolutions. Instead, it highlights the small but meaningful victories—whispering a response, making eye contact, slowly building trust. The depiction of Mira’s therapy is particularly well done, showing it as a process rather than a quick fix. Mira’s therapist provides gentle support, reinforcing that progress happens at its own pace. This depiction is critical to the book’s pathos.
One of the most compelling features of Speechless is how it captures anxiety. Instead of directly explaining Mira’s feelings through words, Steinke shows them through her actions. You can see her body language, like when she pulls back physically when she’s overwhelmed or the tension on her face. Some of the most impactful scenes are when Mira desperately wants to speak but can’t, which helps readers really connect with what she’s going through. This representation of selective mutism is both original and important, avoiding common clichés and oversimplifications. Steinke uses his visual prowess to enhance this, zooming in on Mira’s tightly clenched hands, her downcast eyes, and the small changes in her posture that reveal her distress. The silence in Speechless is full of emotion; every unspoken moment has meaning. By putting readers in Mira’s shoes, the book creates a deep sense of empathy, making Mira’s struggle with communication feel immediate and incredibly tangible.
Mira’s stop-motion films add another layer to the storytelling, acting as a mirror to her emotions. When words fail her, her puppets speak for her. These short films are abstract, sometimes deeply personal, offering glimpses into Mira’s inner world. It’s a brilliant creative choice that makes her artistic expression just as powerful as spoken dialogue.
Likewise, while Steinke’s artwork may appear straightforward at first glance, he can convey profound emotions in nuanced ways. The apparent simplicity of his style masks the rich emotional layers embedded in each panel. Through masterful body language and facial expressions, he imbues every pause and fleeting moment of connection with significant depth and authenticity. His cartooning radiates a warmth, striking that rare harmonious balance between humor and heartfelt moments, ensuring that the narrative remains engaging and accessible, even when tackling serious themes.
Speechless addresses the theme of identity with a relaxed assurance that resonates with reality. Notably, Mira’s Jewish heritage is seamlessly integrated into the narrative without excessive elaboration; it is simply an aspect of her identity, much like Alex’s nonbinary identity is integral to them. The text demonstrates confidence in its readership, presenting these elements as they are without the necessity for extensive clarification or justification. This organic portrayal contributes to the authenticity and relatability of Speechless, mirroring the diverse nature of actual classroom environments.
Beyond its focus on selective mutism, Speechless is about the strength of friendships—how they shift, fracture, and sometimes heal. Mira’s relationship with Chloe is layered with hurt and nostalgia, a perfect encapsulation of how childhood friendships can evolve in painful, confusing ways. Meanwhile, her growing friendship with Alex offers something new—acceptance without expectations, the kind of bond where silence is never a problem.
Thus, at its core, Speechless celebrates the myriad forms of self-expression. Mira’s journey transcends merely overcoming mutism; it’s about recognizing that communication can take many shapes: through spoken words, artistic endeavors, humor, or even stop-motion animation. The impact of this story lingers long after the last page is turned. Middle-grade readers will see reflections of themselves in Mira, whether or not they grapple with anxiety, and those who do will find a rare and essential mirror of their own experiences.
For anyone who ever felt like an outsider or completely misunderstood, Speechless is a must-read. With its sharp wit, profound insights, and relatable themes, Steinke crafts a narrative that defies neat resolutions—Mira isn’t “fixed” by the end because she was never truly broken to begin with. Instead, she uncovers myriad ways to express herself, realizing that her voice—whether vocalized or expressed through art—carries significance. And what is more important than that?
Speechless will be published on March 5, 2025 by Graphix. You can follow Aron on social media, including Instagram and Bluesky. Updates can also be found on his website.
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