I'm undoubtedly being harsh, here, for two reasons: one, the character of Maeve's mother, in her behaviour towards her daughter, cuts very close for me, and two, I prefer storytelling that's restrained, understated, naturalisic, that shows rather than tells, and this book...is the exact opposite of that.
In a progress update I described it as heavy-handed, and I stand by that. This is a book that's not content to just tell, but tell at great length, all the time, persistently being much too on-the-nose, like it doesn't trust the reader to understand things unless they're spelt out with emphasis. This bogs the pace down to the point that every scene takes pages on end to play out, way more than seems necessary, and it's at its worst with the heavier emotions.
I can't think of a better word than angst for it, so much drawn-out, Capital-Letters, beaten-home-with-a-pink-hammer Angst, with barely a breather from it. Every lighter, happier moment is derailed by it. The con, as well-depicted as it is in a practical sense, the themes, the characters, the short story's worth of plot, none of it gets a chance to properly engage, as it's all drowned out by the angst.
It's kind of ironic, actually. A story centred around a person escaping suffocating, hoarded Stuff is itself suffocated by far too much "stuff". I repeat, I'm undoubtedly being harsh, but I also have to be honest: as much as I wanted to, I really didn't enjoy this.