In her second memoir, Stephanie Klein attempts to get to the root of the lifelong battle that has been her weight. At the age of eight she went on her first diet with the help of a local diet doctor in her Long Island hometown. At age 13 she attended Camp Yanisin, a summer camp specializing in helping young adolescents lose weight. Arriving at the camp nestled in the mountains of Massachusetts, Klein is already a weight-loss pro, a self-proclaimed “fat camp champ.” She knows all the fads and the tricks, and is determined to shed her schoolyard moniker of “Moose.”

But MOOSE is not just about the author’s struggle with her weight. It’s also a treatise on pubescent awareness, self-esteem, and in Klein’s case, a slightly precocious interest in sexuality, earning her the nickname “Porno Queen.” She devotes much of her time conjuring up excuses to visit the boys’ bunk rather than focusing on her health and quickly spots a hazardous pattern in her behavior: “Eventually, I’d give in, realizing I’d not only pleasured my way through the cranberry-walnut pie, but I’d inhaled the whole of our kitchen. It seems I didn’t just do this with food, I did it with boys. I Crosby, Stills, and Nashed my way though adolescence and loved all the ones I was with. If I couldn’t be with Adam, I’d be with everyone else.” If she couldn’t satisfy the hunger within with food, she’d try boys.

Klein deals with family issues, like the distant, sometimes strained relationship with her strict father and remote mother, and her never-ending search for approval, acceptance and success, and how she thinks that she would’ve gained all of these if only she had lost the weight: “You’re either likable or you’re not. And some people just give you more chances if you were thin. Because after all, it was just as I’d imagined all along: thin could wear red and be a bitch and people would still like her.”

As an adult struggling with the difficult labor and delivery of premature twins, Klein attempts to leave her food worries behind her once and for all, not just for her own health but to be an example for her newborn son and daughter. But through caustic wit and humor, she admits that the years of counting calories have not taught her much in the way of wisdom. She continues to struggle with food and probably always will: “I haven’t conquered any battles with food, with the bulge, or within myself. I still fight with my weight. Sometimes it fights back. It was messy when I was younger, and it continues to be. I can recite positive affirmations, trying to convince myself I’m no longer Moose.”

Through her humor and self-effacing charm, Klein imparts her struggles in a completely relatable way. Who hasn’t struggled with self-esteem, especially as a teenager? Who hasn’t thought of elaborate “I’ll show them!” scenarios? The author is painfully honest (sometimes excruciatingly so) about her issues and opinions, and lays bare her behavior without apology. A person’s foibles, for better or worse, don’t define that person, but they do help build a certain character.

Given the chance to go back and edit anything, Klein begs off: “That’s the thing about being a former fat camp champ; when asked if I’d change my past if I could, I think for a moment and always answer no. the pain in being an overweight kid, the humiliation, makes you think twice before ever cutting anyone else down. There’s something almost perfect in the ugly duckling syndrome. Something just. Something that just makes it mildly worth it. Because a sensitivity is tattooed on a part of you no one else can see but they can somehow guess is there. It’s always with you. A scar maybe, some hurt that really does make you better.”

Stephanie Klein is no longer known as “Moose,” but it’s safe to say that the memory of that painful time, as well as the lessons she gleaned, will be with her forever.