Reviewed by Olivia Jakubowski
There is something unsettling about discovering that a familiar public space contains private passageways you were never meant to see. Ellen Cooney’s novel opens inside that unsettling feeling, where the clatter of dishes and hum of conversation give way to back corridors that feel almost enchanted—with exhaustion, with memory, and with the possibilities a woman has long learned to suppress.
In A Cowardly Woman No More, Ellen Cooney crafts a sharply observant and emotionally resonant novel that examines the quiet unraveling of a woman whose life has been shaped by corporate demands, gendered expectations, and the slow erosion of her confidence. The novel centers on Trisha Donahue, a dedicated employee and working mother whose life has become defined by routine and the constant demand to be agreeable. After expecting a promotion only to be overlooked, she attends her company’s celebratory banquet, where she is unexpectedly, and somewhat absurdly, named “Employee of the Year.” Stunned, she refuses the award and slips away into the back corridors of the restaurant, where the familiar dissolves into something stranger and more symbolic. The setting becomes a maze of hidden rooms and unexpected encounters, a space that mirrors her internal crisis. Cooney uses a single surreal day to expose how burnout, self-silencing, and everyday sexism accumulate over years until a woman no longer recognizes her own wants. These elements including Trisha’s exhaustion, the subtle sexism she has normalized, and the surreal environment create a narrative that reflects how burnout can transform even ordinary spaces into overwhelming landscapes.
What struck me most about Trisha as a character is how clearly Cooney shows the quiet, everyday ways women learn to step back in order to survive their workplaces. Trisha isn’t “cowardly” in the way the word suggests; she’s someone who has spent years navigating expectations that reward her for being patient, polite, and endlessly accommodating. The disappointment of being passed over for a promotion doesn’t come out of nowhere, it’s layered on top of so many small moments where she’s been talked over or taken for granted. Cooney allows these details to accumulate gently, so Trisha’s reaction feels less like an overcorrection and more like the natural breaking point of someone who has tried to meet everyone’s needs but her own. Watching her slip into the restaurant’s hidden rooms feels like watching a woman finally step out of the roles she’s been assigned, even if she’s not yet sure what she’ll claim for herself instead.
The book also captures workplace burnout in a way that feels surprisingly tender. Instead of treating exhaustion as a dramatic crisis, Cooney lets it show up in the atmosphere: the too-long hallways, the strange little rooms, the slightly off-kilter details of the restaurant that echo how drained Trisha feels. The setting becomes an extension of her mental state, but not in a heavy-handed way, it just feels like the kind of space you might wander into when you’re overwhelmed and running on autopilot. The dreamlike quality of the restaurant makes the experience of burnout feel both recognizable and fresh, showing how losing your sense of direction can happen slowly, almost without noticing.
What I found most compelling about A Cowardly Woman No More is how it quietly asks the big questions without ever announcing them. It pushes readers to consider how much of a person’s identity is shaped by work, and how easily women can absorb expectations that leave no room for their own desires. The novel wonders what courage actually looks like: is it bold, outward action, or is it the simple choice to stop shrinking oneself? Through Trisha’s wandering, Cooney raises questions about who we become when we ignore our own exhaustion for too long, and what it takes to finally step out of the roles we’ve been performing.
While some readers might wish for less ambiguity or a more conventional narrative arc, the novel’s strength lies in its emotional sincerity and its willingness to sit inside Trisha’s discomfort. Cooney’s language is careful and attentive, and the blend of realism and the surreal feels purposeful rather than decorative. I appreciated how the book uses its unusual setting to express workplace burnout in a way that feels both imaginative and true to life. Overall, A Cowardly Woman No More offers a thoughtful, feminist portrait of a woman reclaiming her sense of self, not through dramatic confrontation, but through the quiet, necessary act of finally listening to her own mind.