Most stars twinkle benignly from the heavens, enchanting us with their magical shine. But in the fevered firmament of haute cuisine, there are stars of a different sort that beam their powerful, far-reaching light from the pages of Le Guide Michelin, the hallowed culinary guidebook upon which a chef’s reputation can, like the proverbial souffle, rise or fall. In The Perfectionist: Life and Death in Haute Cuisine, journalist Rudolph Chelminski chronicles the ill-fated career of celebrated three-star French chef Bernard Loiseau. A longtime friend of Loiseau, Chelminski renders a compassionate, though objective, portrait, including a succinct history and expose of the French food scene. Bernard Loiseau, like most of his famous culinary colleagues, began his cook’s life at the very bottom. From his grueling apprenticeship in the kitchens of Les Freres Troisgros (Chefs Jean and Pierre Troisgros’ famed three-star establishment), to his first day as head chef in a small Paris bistro, Loiseau had a single goal: to earn three Michelin stars. Thus, he lived a manic life of relentless toil, a punishing schedule of 16-hour days filled with the endless perfecting of his cuisine, constant public relations efforts and little-to-no time off. Eventually acquiring a once-legendary hotel and restaurant, La Cote d’Or, in the small town of Saulieu, Loiseau worked himself and his dedicated staff obsessively, finally garnering Michelin’s highest honor. The cost, though, was dear: on the afternoon of February 24, 2003, exhausted and worried about rumors that Michelin intended to rescind one of his coveted stars, the 52-year-old chef shot himself. Inevitable sorrow and industry outrage followed in the wake of this tragedy. Like a cathartic, Bernard’s desperate act released a torrent of feelings . . . that had been bottled up within the profession for decades, writes Chelminski.

Shortly before he died, fearing his fall from culinary stardom, Loiseau admitted to Chelminski, I pass my time trembling. Anyone who has ever dined in a Michelin-starred Gallic temple of gastronomy and even those of us for whom that experience awaits will find this revealing foray into the draconian, uber-competitive echelons of high cuisine fascinating if a bit repelling. Alison Hood trained as a chef, but left her toque behind for the writing life.

So much has been written about the controversial African-American author Richard Wright, who penned Black Boy and Native Son. There are four biographies, including the adoring 1973 book by Frenchman Michel Fabre and the scathing, no-holds-barred 1988 work by black poet Margaret Walker. Of the books written on Wright to date, the new biography by Hazel Rowley is more informative, comprehensive and insightful than any of the earlier efforts. Scouring the 136 boxes of Wright’s memorabilia at Yale University and hunting down letters written by the author to people around the world, Rowley has constructed a more complex, detailed view of Wright than previously seen. She explores his early impoverished beginnings in Mississippi, his time as a struggling writer in Chicago, his flirtation with the Communist Party, his critical and popular successes with his early novels and the later, more complicated works of his European years. His fascination with French philosophy and his harassment by the American government also receive fascinating treatment.

For Rowley, the artistic Wright and the political Wright are one. Always searching for a deeper understanding of himself and a truer writing voice, Wright hated compromise. Whether he was protesting the crushing discrimination of Jim Crow in his brilliant short story collections or speaking out against the global repercussions of colonialism in his later nonfiction books, his was a voice to be reckoned with.

It is to Rowley’s credit that she pulls no punches in showing how Wright’s work met with intense resistance from editors and publishers, who forced him to rewrite large sections of his narratives because of their frank content about racism. Her disclosures about Wright as a lover, social animal, father and husband are particularly revealing, especially those concerning his interracial marriage a bond that was both unlawful and taboo at the time.

In the closing chapters, Rowley chronicles the decline of Wright’s skills and health as he worked even harder to analyze a world in total political and cultural flux. He was a man who never stopped writing, and many of his works remain unpublished. Overall, Rowley’s is a definitive, well-written biography of a major author, an African American who helped change how this country discussed issues of race, sex and culture. This is a superb book from start to finish.

Robert Fleming is the author of The African American Writer’s Handbook (Ballantine).