Jon Ronson is one of those broadcasters who divides the nation. Him, Rowland Rivron, Henry Blofeld, Chris Moyles, Malcolm McLaren (all men, interestingly) - you're either a committed fan, or the boot goes through the radio every time they show up. Ronson's problem is his voice. It's the sort of voice the innocent blonde baby-sitter hears when she picks up the phone in a barricaded house - and the call is coming from the upstairs bedroom.

It's a pity, because he's an excellent radio journalist. He finds the stories others can only dream of, and presents them intelligently, wittily and with a point.

His latest series of Jon Ronson On... began a five-part series on Thursday (Radio 4, 11pm). Typically, he tackled a subject difficult to present tastefully: bad news - the receiving of, coping with and responding to the calamities of others. He began with the problem of how best to respond to others' misfortune. It is a tricky one. In American cop shows they trot out “I'm sorry for your loss” in a way that, thus cheered up, the bereaved stops sniffling, dries his or her eye, and gets on with the plot development. In real life it's not so easy.

Ronson's gift is in being able to involve the listeners by presenting a scenario that invites them to respond, not just to his solution but to come up with their own alternative. A round-robin e-mail from a colleague about the death of a much-loved grandfather sparks the agonising, familiar to many, over how best to respond. That, inadvertently, he sent his carefully composed response 43 times makes you laugh, but it's not the point.

Similarly, how would you react if you thought you were going to die in six months? Go out with a bang, probably, which is the way one man from Cornwall did. Having had inoperable pancreatic cancer diagnosed, he gave away all his clothes but his burial suit (“It was new”) , a pair of trousers and a couple of pairs of trainers, and went hog-wild with his savings. Which consisted of going to nice restaurants in the Newquay area, mainly. Going hog-wild means different things to different people.

When, after eight months and after he had put on 50lb, the doctors finally twigged that something might be amiss, and further tests were done. It was found that he didn't have cancer. How would you react, do you think? With joy? You'd think so, but he was livid. Broke and with a cupboard full of hangers, he had to start all over again. Wouldn't you be pretty cheesed off too?

And there's the thing. Ronson makes you see things from another angle. It's a gift, and it's what makes him special.

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