One of the joys of reading old works of fiction, or historical fiction that mimics older styles, is being forced to find a dictionary and look up archaic words. Of course, it’s always a fine line between learning delightful new/old words and excessively flipping back and forth trying to understand what the hell you’re reading. One of the reasons I like the Mary Quinn stories so much is that they navigate that line so well.
And then there’s H.P. Lovecraft.