Pity the woman sleeping next me on the plane from Guatemala City to Miami yesterday. Or trying to sleep, I should say, since she was awoken more than once by a loud guffaw coming from my direction. “It better be really funny,” she said with a light British accent the second time I sat hand over mouth, eyes wide with apology. I tilted the cover of the book I was reading, How About Never — Is Never Good For You?: My Life in Cartoons by Bob Mankoff, cartoon editor of The New Yorker, toward her. Eyes barely open but smiling, she nodded, getting it. Not wanting the book to end, I gazed out the window, sad for everyone in the homes and swimming pools and fields below the clouds not also curled up with Mankoff’s recently published memoir.

Peppered with cartoons published in the magazine’s pages since its inception in 1925, including many of Mankoff’s own, the book takes its title from his depiction of an office worker on the phone saying, “No, Thursday’s out. How about never — is never good for you?”

With signature New Yorker wit and comprehensiveness, Mankoff opens with a chapter (“I’m Not Arguing, I’m Jewish”) containing the origin story of his humor in the postwar Bronx of the 1950s. His flamboyant and doting mother was fluent in Yiddish, a language he describes as “combining aggression, friendliness, and ambiguity, a basic recipe for humor,” which she was “excellent at cooking up and on which I was spoon-fed.” He learned about work ethic from his father, who was self-educated at the New York Public Library and eventually owned a successful wall-to-wall carpeting business.

Close to earning a Ph.D. in psychology in the 1970s, Mankoff quit to become a cartoonist, taking with him a passion for deep study (see his research-driven musings on the New Yorker blog, The Cartoon Bureau: Memorandums on Humor, from the Desk of Bob Mankoff) and a certainty that the best cartoons are those that require readers to think.

From this personal introduction, he moves into: a brief history of cartooning; his founding of the wildly successful Cartoon Bank; insight into what it takes to win the weekly New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest (Roger Ebert finally did after 107 tries); and background information on the magazine’s regular roster of cartoon contributors, from old-timers like Sam Gross to a younger guard including Carolita Johnson and Farley Katz.

The mental flexibility required to understand New Yorker cartoons is perhaps best embodied by David Remnick, the magazine's top editor and final judge. After Mankoff winnows down the hundreds of submissions to a smaller selection of finalists, Remnick makes the final call on which fifteen or so cartoons will be published in the weekly magazine. At Wednesday afternoon cartoon meetings, Mankoff sits down along with managing editor Silvia Killingsworth to watch Remnick pick up cartoons, read their captions, and drop them into one of three baskets on the table labeled “Yes,” “No,” and "Maybe.” Some of the lucky “Maybes” make their way to “Yes,” and the others, well, those make up the all too familiar stacks of rejection for cartoonists struggling in a dwindling market.

When Mankoff was starting out, he fantasized about holding his current position in life: “To me The New Yorker was to cartooning what the New York Yankees were to baseball — the Best Team. If you could make that team, you too were one of the best.” Such driving ambition has led many hopefuls to The New Yorker over the years, including those who show up for “Open-Call Tuesdays,” established by Mankoff shortly after he became cartoon editor in 1997 so that anyone who wants to show cartoons can make an appointment to see him. In these one-on-one sessions, he offers constructive advice and mentoring to aspiring cartoonists who might break in and become the next generation of masters.

Following my flight to Miami yesterday, I boarded a shuttle van home to Key West, a small island located a few hours southwest of Miami, where the Atlantic and Caribbean meet. Between her mother and me, a thirteen-year-old girl sat bored, trying to pass the time until we arrived at our destination. The two were just beginning a much needed vacation from Michigan. It was her first time in Florida, and I don't think there's an SPF high enough to protect her fair skin.

Having finished Mankoff’s story, I was deep into my next, much less funny, book when I overheard the girl say that she couldn’t read because she gets carsick. Mostly, I've outgrown that feeling, but I do remember needing desperate relief from the long winter of my own eighth grade mind. I pulled How About Never? from my bag, figuring my seat-mate could at least glance at the cartoons, and offered it to her. She looked to her mother and smiled a shy thank you.

“She loves New Yorker cartoons,” her mother said. “My partner, John, is trying to teach her what makes something funny.” For the next hour or so, I read to the sound of girly giggles, looking over when she wanted to point one out: a drawing of travelers doing the limbo under a series of metal detectors descending in size, with the caption, “Caribbean Airport Security.”

What is funny? As Bob Mankoff makes clear, whatever it is that makes it so can be studied and learned. Combined with formative circumstances like his, it can grow into an art form that brings together strangers in the air, on the road, and in our own minds.