There were only four things I didn't like about John James Audubon: The Making of an American (2004) by Richard Rhodes. One of those was the title; it has little bearing on the biographical construction. Other than the title and a couple, minor, pesky things, this 500-page volume was wholly captivating, twice.

There must be 30 other books that detail Audubon's life and another 200 that address his artwork. But Rhodes, a Pulitzer Prize-winning historian, in the fashion of Evan Connell's Son of the Morning Star, gleans and crystallizes the best of all those works and provides especially meaningful context to some information previously given fairly scant attention. What emerged was an amazingly vivid and fairly candid account of the life of the man generally recognized and revered as among history's foremost wildlife artists. As no other, Audubon moved wildlife art from the pedestrian discipline of illustration to an acknowledged fine art genre. But that's the fodder of about 230 other books. Rhodes' narrative uniquely puts Audubon's character ahead of his craft, although the latter certainly is not ignored.

What I liked most about this book is that it provides excellent historical perspective. Readers are given an honest glimpse of Audubon's time and place in America.

A dashing 18-year-old, "of fair mien and quite a handsome figure," by his own account, Jean-Jacques Foug?re Audubon arrived in New York City in 1803, barely escaping conscription into Napoleon's army. He arrived with a fascination for bird life, a penchant for drawing, an insatiable curiosity and an affinity for wilderness. Described by others as excitable, vivacious, charismatic, and musically and athletically talented, Audubon's baggage included the secret of his being the bastard son of a French naval officer and a chambermaid, a much more onerous stigma in yesteryear than today. Despite remaining "Frenchy as thunder," he and his largely self-taught accomplishments were American.

While back in Europe in 1827, Audubon was received by none other than Sir Walter Scott, who subsequently provided a very telling description of the artist: "He is an American by naturalization, a Frenchman by birth, but less of a Frenchman than I have ever seen?no dash, no glimmer or shine about him, but great simplicity of manners and behavior; slight in person and plainly dressed; wears long hair which time has not yet tinged; his countenance acute, handsome and interesting, but still simplicity is the predominant characteristic."

Until his death almost forty-eight years later, victimized by dementia, Audubon?the husband of Lucy Bakewell and father of Lucy, John Woodhouse and Victor Gifford? Audubon lived a most extraordinary life. His Birds of America may have done as much to advance and popularize ornithology as any scientific achievement to that time. It gave Audubon desired celebrity; it also provided him and his family needed wealth. Neither was easily or readily gained.

Audubon's potholed path to fame and fortune brought him in contact with a surprising host of American and European notables, including Constantine Samuel Rafinesque, Titian and Rembrandt Peale, Robert Todd (Lincoln's father-in-law), James Monroe, Thomas Nuttall, Thomas Sully, Thomas Cole, George Rogers Clark, William Clark, Edward Everett, Andrew Jackson, Washington Irving, Toussaint Charbonneau, Martin Van Buren, Sam Houston, Stephen Long, Charles Lucien Bonaparte and Bernard de Marigny. And shortly before he was robbed in Buffalo, New York, in 1824, Audubon came in contact with Red Jacket, the famed Seneca chief and orator. He was a stand-in for John Vanderlyn's portrait of Jackson.

By no means were his acquaintances what made Audubon an original. He survived in an era beset with plagues that devastated communities in which he resided. Readers are reminded, for example, that Audubon's era was virtually absent modern medicines and that dental hygiene was decidedly primitive and mostly unnecessary for those over age 30. John James also suffered self-inflicted privations and the indignity of pauperism that is an apparent requisite for artistic fame then as now. He endured long and anguished absences from his periodically understanding wife.

Audubon also truly enjoyed frequent "rambles" through wilderness, sometimes of hundreds of miles. Somehow, on one such peregrination across the prairies of Illinois, he altogether missed the Great Comet of 1811. But while journeying through the Kentucky Barrens, he experienced the major series of earthquakes of 1811-12, which reportedly caused a 50-percent increase in the number of Methodists within the quake zone. Rarely did he mention mosquitoes or buffalo gnats, which were the scourge of other period travelers at the edge of civilization.

In Kentucky in 1816, he witnessed and provided for history a phantasmagoric account of a massive flight and slaughter of passenger pigeons. The birds arrived as a "hard gale" before sunset and didn't finish passing by until after midnight." His description of the occasion is entrenched in the natural history literature despite the fact that Audubon was frequently if not chronically inclined toward exaggeration. This was manifest in his characterizations of his own various circumstances, capabilities and art. And exaggeration?brilliant, creative embellishment?is truly manifest in his artwork. He was, at least in my view, the Michelangelo and Michaeljordan of wildlife art.

Does everyone know that Audubon used light threads on nestling peewees?the first recorded banding of birds in North America? Does everyone know that, during America's long ago, female dogs were commonly referred to as "sluts"? Does everyone know what the following birds were called in yesteryear: American merganser, red-shouldered hawk, black vulture, greater yellowlegs, peregrine falcon, American pipits, lesser goldfinch and common loon? Try, respectively, shell duck, winter hawk, carrion crow, tell-tale godwit, great-footed hawk, brown titlark, Arkansas siskin and imber diver.

On page 118, author Rhodes diverted from historical immersion and objectivity to take a wholly unnecessary and badly aimed potshot at hunters "then as now" (which prompted a wholly unnecessary epithet in the margin).

The other two things I didn't particularly like about the book concern the wild turkey. Rhodes wrote that Audubon's portfolio painting of the wild turkey is his "most famous drawing." Who says? C'mon Rich, what happened to that "eye of the beholder" adage? How about the wood ducks, or the red-breasted thrushes (robins) or the wood (ruffed) grouse?? And Rhodes pointed out that "wild turkey cocks exceeding twenty-two pounds are unknown." Poppycock.

But enough criticism. This book is no turkey. It is brilliantly informative and entertaining. The reader is gifted with an intimate portrait of an amazingly talented person and with a rare sense of American history. Not since Son of the Morning Star have I finished reading a book and promptly read it again. Great fun, great insight.

John James Audubon: The Making of an American was published by Alfred A. Knopf. At $30 (hc), $16 (pb) or $9.95 (ebook), it is worth the price of admission. Copies can be ordered at http://www.aaknopf.com.