Does it seem that the death of a writer, one whom you have read, is a sadder experience than that of an actor, rock star, or other popular stranger? Reading is so much more an intimate experience than watching boobs on the tube, I suppose. You've become acquainted with that which the writer has chosen to expose, and you feel as if you are relating with, and communicating your own self back to, that writer while reading his/her work.
OK, I'm rambling.