With TV hits like Girlfriends, The Game, and Being Mary Jane under her belt, Mara Brock Akil is a bona fide legend—and her latest project, Netflix’s swoon-worthy Forever, is the newest TV show I can’t stop thinking about.

Forever is an adaptation of the 1975 novel of the same name by Judy Blume, one that has been banned time and time again for its depiction of a young woman coming into her sexuality. Growing up, Akil read all of Blume’s books, but she was especially drawn to Forever for its honesty.

“It allowed so many of us to think about what could be ahead in relationships,” the producer and screenwriter tells me over Zoom, “while also remembering to protect our futures.”

When I nervously admit that I’ve never read Blume myself, she isn’t surprised: It was a different time. When I’d reached high school, my coming-of-age novels took the form of Twilight, the Harry Potter books, and…hear me out…The Da Vinci Code.

Yet Akil’s Forever drops Blume’s story squarely into the here and now, recasting its young lovers as Black teens in Los Angeles. Keisha Clarke (Lovie Simone) is a driven scholarship student who finds herself embroiled in an online scandal just after the series begins, while Justin Edwards (Michael Cooper Jr.) is an unassuming Black boy from a wealthy family and a predominantly white high school. He’s kind, handsome, awkward, a little lost—and when the two of them get together, what unfolds is a moving story of the push-and-pull between childhood and a burgeoning independence.

“What I translated was the emotion of that book, and by changing the details, it created a different type of plot,” Akil tells me. But what her show does maintain from the book serves as a reminder that, in 1975 as now, we all still want many of the same things: to find love, feel free—but also feel safe.

I came away from the first season of Forever feeling unbelievably hopeful, a fleeting feeling these days. And while a second season of Forever was just greenlit (hooray!), I wanted something to hold me over. So I asked Akil which books beyond Blume’s source material had helped to inspire her vision for Forever. Find her nine picks below.

Red at the Bone by Jacqueline Woodson

This novel was a revelation to me. Woodson captures the emotional weight of generational legacy in a way that mirrors how I think about storytelling—through love, inheritance, and identity. It reminded me of the questions I asked when building characters in Forever: What history are they carrying? And how does that shape their choices?

Coleman Hill by Kim Coleman Foote

Foote’s multigenerational debut felt deeply personal to me, as someone who values lineage and community. I was drawn to how this story tracks migration, memory, and survival. As a creator, I’m always interested in the ripple effects of history—and this novel puts those echoes front and center.

Sula by Toni Morrison

Morrison was my earliest blueprint for complexity and contradiction. Sula helped me understand that female friendship could be as mythic and meaningful as romantic love—and that Black women’s inner lives were worthy of epic storytelling. It’s a compass I still use.

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz

Díaz’s bold voice and fearless structure taught me that genre, language, and cultural specificity could coexist beautifully. Oscar’s longing and imagination resonated with how I wanted to portray teen desire and vulnerability in Forever—as something both deeply personal and historically entangled.

My Train Leaves at Three by Natalie Guerrero

This quiet, beautiful book came to me recently, at a time when I was experimenting with my voice in new mediums. Guerrero’s story of transformation through solitude and movement reminded me that healing and change are not always loud. I see this reflected in characters who grow in silence, in the spaces in-­between. It officially comes out in July and is my number one recommendation for young readers to pick up this summer!

White Teeth by Zadie Smith

Smith’s debut reminded me that humor, intellect, and social commentary can live in the same sentence. Her fearless take on identity, hybridity, and family showed me that the personal is always political—and that sometimes, it’s also very funny.

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

This was one of the first books that made me feel seen. Janie’s voice, hunger for life, and unwillingness to settle lit a fire in me as a young woman. Hurston’s storytelling taught me that the journey to selfhood is sacred.

We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

This manifesto distills so much of what I believe about equity and empowerment. I often recommend it to young women finding their voice because it gives language to things we’ve long felt but didn’t always know how to name. It’s brief but expansive—like the best conversations.

As a storyteller and producer, I believe in truth telling. Kendi’s work inspired a documentary adaptation I produced with director Roger Ross Williams—it offers a clear-eyed view of systemic racism in a way that empowers young people to think critically. It’s history, but it’s also a call to action. That duality is powerful.