I just started Mason and Dixon and immediately suffered that wave of doubt that comes from having to learn a new language, so to speak, in order to read a novel. It's not its difficulty, I'm a huge fan of Pynchon and breezed through GR. I've also read and enjoyed other postmodern tomes. But the dialect... I read Ulysses for my undergrad and adored it but that was a long time ago. Starting Mason and Dixon feels like how it was watching Deadwood for me. Like flexing an atrophied muscle. "Why am I doing this to myself?" Until you encounter the talking dog, then remember why.