The Coffee Shop Masquerade connects Taoist ideas with urban displacement
T.A. Morton is an Irish-Australian writer with a background in journalism and editing in Hong Kong. She holds a Master’s degree in Crime and Thriller Writing from the University of Cambridge and has published fiction in The Lakeview International Journal of Arts and Literature and The Best Asian Short Stories.
Her novella Someone is Coming was released by Monsoon Books in 2022. She has been shortlisted for the Virginia Prize for Fiction and the Bridport Prize. Morton is also the co-host of The Asian Bookshelf Podcast. The Coffee Shop Masquerade (Earnshaw Books, 2025) reflects her interest in Taoist philosophy, urban anonymity, and the shifting identities people adopt in everyday life.
How did the idea of a mask as a silent observer in a Hong Kong coffee shop originate?
The concept emerged from my fascination with using benign everyday objects as storytellers. I previously explored this theme in my short story “Willie’s Funeral Urn,” where the funeral urn recounts its life journey alongside the person who purchased it. In The Coffee Shop Masquerade, the mask symbolizes the Tao Te Ching; as it rests on a shelf in the coffee shop, its path or way is simply to exist—observing those around it. While it causes a bit of mischief—like opening and closing bathroom doors and stealing coffee cups—it aligns itself with the moment rather than forcing a narrative. The mask serves as a silent witness to the stories unfolding around it in the café setting.
The mask’s origin story intertwines Venetian and Chinese elements. What inspired this hybrid mythology?
Both Chinese and Venetian masks carry rich cultural significance. I imagined a narrative where the mask traveled centuries ago from China to Italy, suggesting it was either stolen or cursed and sent away. I imagined that a Venetian artisan found the mask, faded and stripped of its original colors, and then repainted it in Venetian style for sale, thus hiding its true origins beneath a fresh facade. I enjoy interpreting and playing with mythology in all my work, especially in merging Western and Eastern myths to create something new. The concept of the mask hiding its origins beneath new colours reflects the coffee shop’s multicultural environment, embodying the interconnectedness of many diverse traditions.
What role did the Tao Te Ching play in structuring the novel’s philosophical undercurrents?
The Tao Te Ching significantly shaped the novel’s framework. Known as “the way” or “the path,” it explores reality, nature, and human life. The story engages with some of its verses, (ones that I enjoyed!) emphasising how our lives can still be profoundly influenced by unseen forces from the universe. It invites readers to reflect on the timeless nature of certain existential questions and to consider their own reactions when faced in similar situations.
Why did you choose to set the novel in Hong Kong, and how important was the city’s geography to the narrative?
I was inspired by the unique character of Hong Kong during my time living there. Although this narrative could unfold in any large city, Hong Kong reflects a distinct, unseen dynamic. The city’s geography—its blend of urban and natural landscapes—mirrors the characters’ internal journeys and the transient nature of relationships. There’s a line in the first chapter that underscores an oddity in Hong Kong that I felt when I lived there: “This place is odd—it’s filled with old and new, but it feels weird, like there are ghosts everywhere, and they’re reaching out to us.” This inspired me to use ‘magical realism’ within the novel in the form of the relationship between the mask and the Monkey.
The book opens with Mario’s pilgrimage to return the mask. How did you develop his character’s motivations and disillusionment?
I needed the mask to be left in the coffee shop, which led me to create Mario, an Italian man traveling to Hong Kong to uncover the origin story of the mask that his grandmother cherished. Mario’s character developed naturally; he is a troubled individual in grief who prioritises the wrong aspects of life but is searching for answers. His journey is one of self-discovery, grappling with disillusionment, which makes him relatable and complex.
The concept of providence versus randomness recurs throughout the novel. How do you interpret this tension?
I believe providence and randomness are intertwined in our lives. The Tao advises us to accept life as it is meant to be—not as we wish it to be—encouraging compassion over selfishness. This philosophy suggests that humility can lead to inner harmony. I wanted to highlight the peculiar alignments and coincidences that shape all our daily experiences, indicating that what may seem random could be an expression of quiet providence at work. This balance between the two creates tension through the meetings of strangers and the judgments they impart on each other.
How did you approach writing dialogue for characters who are navigating cultural and linguistic barriers?
Writing dialogue is one of my favorite aspects of storytelling. I love listening to conversations, noting how people express themselves and noticing what remains unspoken. I suppose it also helps that I have lived in countries where initially I didn’t speak the language, like Hong Kong and Denmark. It can be difficult to communicate with people when you both are coming from different places, things can easily be misinterpreted and people can take offence. I wanted to highlight the oddity of those interactions but also the humour behind them, they are part of our lives. Dialogue can also act as a mask, revealing how characters project their identities and navigate cultural nuances, even while masking their inner thoughts.
The depiction of transient relationships in Hong Kong is often unvarnished. What sources or experiences informed these portrayals?
My experiences as an expat in Hong Kong provided firsthand insights into the complexities of forming relationships in a new country. Some characters are loosely based on people I encountered, and some have thoughts and experiences that reflected my own during my time living in Hong Kong.
What were the literary or cinematic works, if any, that influenced the fragmented structure of the book?
Monkey Magic, the Japanese TV show from the 1970s, significantly influenced me, particularly the story of the Monkey King, who, in my imagination, grows bored with the blessings of Hong Kong. Jennifer Egan’s A Visit from the Goon Squad also inspired me with its interlinked narratives, inspiring me to create this unique structure.
Do you see The Coffee Shop Masquerade as a closed narrative, or could the mask reappear in another setting?
In my imagination I can envision the mask’s journey as ongoing; it holds the potential for further exploration with Mario. There’s a possibility for its backstory to unfold in future narratives, indicating that its role as an observer linked to the Tao is far from over.
Photos courtesy of T.A. Morton
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