Beth Kaplan –
At the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, Asja Ljuta felt it was time for a new career. “Based on my education, experience, and interests,” she decided, “books make the most sense.”
Four months ago, Asja opened the Great Hall Bookshop, a bright second-hand bookstore at 416 Parliament Street – a welcome arrival in a neighbourhood that has almost everything but bookstores.
Asja was 13 when she arrived in Canada with her family, refugees from the violent civil war in Bosnia. She’d been pulled out of Grade 4 when her family fled to an immigration camp in Slovenia. In their two and a half years in the camp, she picked up some English from Italian volunteers, from voracious reading, and especially due to her love of the American boy band New Kids on the Block.
She well remembers her family’s arrival in Canada late one night in October 1994, especially a warm reception at a refugee centre on Jarvis Street. Two months later, the family was relocated to East York, and in January, she walked into East York Collegiate as a Grade 8 student learning English as a second language.
“The greatest day of my life,” she says. School represented safety and stability; the first girl she met is still a good friend. “You couldn’t get me out of school,” she says. “I loved everything, joined every club I could.”
One spring day her mother found a garbage bag full of books, and she spent the summer reading at least 30 of them. When she got back to school in the fall, her teacher congratulated her on her grammar, punctuation and articulacy. Asja’s conclusion? “Reading does pay off.”
After a brief stint at the University of Toronto, she realized she wasn’t ready for university and headed back to Europe. When her money had nearly run out, she went to Bosnia for the first time in 11 years and stayed for months, reconnecting with her relatives and her roots.
Asja had always had after-school jobs, delivering newspapers, in a bakery, and ten years in a home decor shop; she eventually took courses to become a certified interior decorator and worked for big companies. But in 2020, the pandemic closed everything down for her, as for so many others.
Having taken courses in business practices and accounting, she decided to open a bookstore because “I love people, kids, and books.” But when she asked a bank for a loan, the manager pointed out that, beyond energy and ambition, she had no assets.
It took her five years to pay off debts and bulk up her savings account. While she did so, she bought books, mostly from the internet and acquaintances.
By the time her loan was approved– “I’m so proud of you!” her bank manager said – she had five thousand books stored under the bed and in closets in her St. Jamestown apartment (along with two fire extinguishers in case of emergency).
In October 2025, she obtained the keys to 416 Parliament, and her decorator side launched into full gear. The welcoming space she created opened last January. When I walked in for the first time, I immediately found a hardcover edition of a memoir I’ve been meaning to read for years and a perfect birthday card.
There’s a learning curve for Asja. For example, she realized she must not buy from people who walk in with books that might have been taken from one of the many Little Free Libraries in Cabbagetown.
“I don’t want to mess with the eco-system,” she says, so she buys mostly online. She hopes eventually to have a special section for the many writers who live in the neighbourhood, and possibly to host events. “But it’s just me, so I’m taking it slowly,” she says, beaming.
Has she ever been scared about running a bookstore on an iffy street in a volatile political and economic climate, when book reading itself is perhaps at risk?
“After what I’ve been through,” she says, “nothing scares me.”
