Is 'Keeping The Moon' Part Of A Series?

The setting of 'Keeping the Moon' by Sarah Dessen is one of those small coastal towns that feels like it’s stuck in time, and that’s exactly what makes it so perfect for the story. Colby, the fictional beach town, is where 15-year-old Colie spends her summer with her eccentric aunt Mira. The town is this mix of quirky locals and tourists, with a diner called the Last Chance that becomes Colie’s refuge. The diner’s greasy fries and sticky booths are almost a character themselves, giving the story this grounded, nostalgic vibe. The beach is always nearby, with its salty air and endless horizon, symbolizing both escape and possibility. What really stands out is how the setting mirrors Colie’s journey. The town’s laid-back, slightly rundown charm contrasts with her self-doubt and past struggles. The diner, where she works, becomes a place of transformation—not just because of the job, but because of the people she meets there. Morgan and Isabel, her coworkers, are blunt and real, pushing her to see herself differently. The setting isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a catalyst. Even Mira’s cluttered, colorful house reflects the messiness of growing up. The ocean, always in the distance, feels like a reminder that change is constant, just like the tides.

'Keeping the Moon' struck me as a quintessential coming-of-age story because it captures that messy, transformative phase of life where you're figuring out who you are. Colie, the protagonist, is this awkward, self-conscious teen who spends a summer with her eccentric aunt in a small beach town. The novel dives deep into her journey from insecurity to self-acceptance, which is the heart of any good coming-of-age tale. What makes it special is how it handles her relationships—with her aunt, her new friends at the diner, and even herself. These interactions force her to confront her insecurities and slowly shed the weight of others' opinions. The setting plays a huge role too. The beach town feels like a liminal space, perfect for personal growth. Colie's job at the diner exposes her to people who see her differently than she sees herself, and that contrast is what pushes her to evolve. The book doesn’t shy away from the discomfort of growing up—her struggles with body image, social anxiety, and past bullying are all laid bare. But it’s also full of small, quiet victories, like her finding confidence through her work and friendships. The way Colie learns to stand up for herself and embrace her quirks is what makes 'Keeping the Moon' resonate as a coming-of-age story. It’s not about grand adventures but the internal shifts that happen when you’re given the space to breathe and be yourself.

Colie's journey in 'Keeping the Moon' is one of those quiet but powerful transformations that sneak up on you. At first, she's this insecure girl, drowning in self-doubt after years of being bullied and labeled as the 'fat kid.' Her mom's a fitness guru, which just adds to the pressure. But spending the summer in Colby changes everything. Working at the Last Chance diner forces her out of her shell—she can't hide behind her mom or her past there. Morgan and Isabel, her coworkers, don't coddle her; they tease her but also see her potential. That tough love works wonders. What really shifts for Colie is how she starts to own her space. She stops apologizing for existing. Norman, the artist who sees her differently, plays a big part—he doesn't buy into her old story of being unworthy. By the end, she's not just tolerating herself; she's embracing her quirks, like her love of vintage clothes. The scene where she stands up to her former tormentor? Pure catharsis. It's not about becoming someone else but uncovering who she was under all that fear. Sarah Dessen nails that slow, messy process of self-acceptance—no magic makeover, just real growth.

I've always been drawn to 'Keeping the Moon' because of its nuanced portrayal of relationships, and the main love interest, Norman, stands out as a refreshingly genuine character. Unlike typical love interests in coming-of-age stories, Norman isn't just a handsome face—he's got depth. He works at a local restaurant, wears quirky vintage clothes, and has this quiet confidence that contrasts beautifully with Colie's initial insecurity. What makes their dynamic special is how Norman sees Colie for who she truly is, not just how she presents herself. He appreciates her quirks, encourages her to embrace her individuality, and never pressures her to change. Their romance develops organically through small moments—shared shifts at the restaurant, late-night conversations, and Norman's subtle but meaningful gestures. The author does a fantastic job showing how Norman's steady presence helps Colie shed the weight of her past and discover her self-worth. It's not about grand romantic declarations but the quiet, everyday ways two people can inspire growth in each other. Norman's character also challenges stereotypes—he's emotionally available, respectful, and secure enough to let Colie take the lead in her own transformation. Their relationship feels authentic because it's built on mutual respect rather than superficial attraction.

Reading 'Keeping the Moon' felt like a deep dive into the messy journey of self-acceptance. Colie’s transformation isn’t some overnight miracle—it’s gritty, awkward, and painfully relatable. The book nails how self-esteem isn’t about flipping a switch but chipping away at insecurities. Morgan’s diner becomes this unexpected sanctuary where Colie learns to stand tall, literally and figuratively. The way her body image struggles mirror her internal voice hit hard. It’s not just about weight or looks; it’s the baggage of believing you’re unworthy of taking up space. The supporting characters—especially Isabel—don’t coddle her. Their tough love shows confidence isn’t handed to you; it’s claimed. The book’s quiet genius is how it frames small acts—wearing a bold lipstick, refusing to shrink—as rebellious. By the end, Colie’s realization that her worth isn’t tied to others’ opinions or past mistakes sticks with you. It’s a lesson in how self-esteem grows in the cracks of everyday courage, not grand gestures. Another layer I loved was the contrast between Colie’s mom, a former fat girl turned fitness guru, and Colie herself. It underscores how generational body issues warp self-perception differently. The mom’s obsession with transformation ironically traps Colie in the same cycle she’s trying to escape. The book doesn’t villainize her mom but shows how even well-meaning advice can suffocate. The diner’s regulars—normal, flawed people—become mirrors reflecting Colie’s potential. Norman’s photography subplot is brilliant too; through his lens, Colie sees herself as art, not a project. It’s a metaphor for how self-esteem flourishes when we stop seeing ourselves as problems to fix. The absence of a dramatic makeover is the point: confidence isn’t a new outfit but owning the skin you’re in.

I just finished 'Keeping You a Secret' and the ending left me smiling. Without spoiling too much, it wraps up in a way that feels authentic to the characters' journeys. Holland and Cece face real struggles—homophobia, family tension, societal pressure—but their relationship survives and grows stronger. The final scenes show them embracing their love openly, with Holland gaining confidence in her identity. It’s not a fairy-tale ending where everything’s perfect, but it’s hopeful and satisfying. Their growth feels earned, especially Holland’s shift from fear to self-acceptance. If you want a YA romance that balances realism with warmth, this delivers.

I found 'Keeping You a Secret' available to borrow for free on Open Library. You just need to create an account, and you can access the ebook without paying anything. Some public libraries also offer digital copies through apps like Libby or OverDrive—check if your local library has it. There are occasionally free reading promotions on platforms like Amazon Kindle, but they’re rare for this title. Avoid shady sites claiming free downloads; they often violate copyright laws. If you’re into LGBTQ+ YA novels, I’d recommend 'Annie on My Mind' as another great read—it’s often available through similar legal channels.

I remember picking up 'Keeping Faith' because the cover looked intriguing, but I had no idea about the storm surrounding it until I dug deeper. The novel was written by Jodi Picoult, who’s famous for tackling morally complex themes, but this one hit differently. The controversy isn’t just about the plot—it’s about how it intersects with real-world sensitivities. The story revolves around a young girl, Faith, who starts hearing voices she claims are God’s, sparking a media frenzy and a custody battle. What makes people uneasy is how it mirrors actual debates about child spirituality and mental health. Some readers felt Picoult exploited religious fervor for drama, while others praised her for daring to explore the gray area between divine intervention and psychological crisis. The book’s portrayal of Faith’s mother, a secular lawyer forced to confront her daughter’s sudden ‘miracles,’ adds fuel to the fire. Critics argue it oversimplifies atheist perspectives or paints them as inflexible. On the flip side, religious groups took issue with the ambiguity—Faith’s visions are never outright confirmed or denied as supernatural, which left some feeling cheated. Then there’s the medical angle: the child’s symptoms eerily resemble schizophrenia, but the narrative dances around diagnosing her, which mental health advocates called irresponsible. It’s a mess of ethical landmines, and that’s precisely why I couldn’t put it down. Picoult doesn’t give easy answers, and that’s the point. The controversy isn’t a flaw; it’s the heartbeat of the story. What’s wild is how the book’s reception split along ideological lines. I saw forums where people accused it of being ‘too woke’ or ‘anti-religion,’ while others claimed it coddled faith too much. The custody battle subplot, with its courtroom theatrics, also rubbed legal experts the wrong way—apparently, real family courts rarely handle spiritual crises like this. But honestly, that’s Picoult’s signature move: she amplifies real dilemmas until they’re almost surreal, forcing readers to pick sides. 'Keeping Faith' isn’t controversial because it’s poorly written; it’s controversial because it’s a mirror. And mirrors don’t lie—they just show us what we’re afraid to see.