Final thought: In twenty years, will we remember RONAN as a masterpiece of elegy or a relic of the “sad boy” aesthetic? The answer depends on how much you believe art should comfort versus disturb. I suspect the truth is both.
Additionally, the work leans heavily on the audience’s willingness to supply their own grief. If you have not lost someone—or if you prefer art that argues rather than aches— RONAN may feel like an endurance test. There is very little intellectual distance. It is all nerve endings. Final thought: In twenty years, will we remember
If you come expecting three-act structure or clear resolution, turn back. RONAN is an emotional tone poem, and it knows it. Where RONAN excels is in sensory density. The opening frames (or verses) throw you into a summer afternoon that tastes of chlorine, cheap candy, and the particular dread of a phone call you know is coming. The language is not sparse; it is lush to the point of drowning : “He had a laugh like a screen door slamming / And a scar on his knee from the summer of ’09.” Every detail is a loaded gun. The color blue recurs obsessively—jeans, a bruise, the pool, the ambulance lights. You realize quickly that the creator isn't describing a person; they are constructing a shrine. And shrines are not meant to be comfortable. They demand you kneel. Additionally, the work leans heavily on the audience’s