Observant, Rapid, Expansive
Augie may tire quickly of individual women and individual jobs, but he never tires of long and observant descriptions. This is clear right off the bat in the first paragraph of the novel:
I am an American, Chicago born—Chicago, that somber city—and go at things as I have taught myself, freestyle, and will make the record in my own way: first to knock, first admitted; sometimes an innocent knock, sometimes a not so innocent. But a man's character is his fate, says Heraclitus, and in the end there isn't any way to disguise the nature of the knocks by acoustical work on the door or gloving the knuckles. (1.1)
This is the opening paragraph of the novel, and it gives us a good feel for the style of the book. Augie will begin to make a point—in the case, that he's from Chicago—and then he'll interrupt himself with a tangential remark or two.
The flow of the text doesn't drag, however, as Bellow knows exactly when and where to pause or to switch the tempo. His sentences are long, often complex, but broken into manageable snippets. You'll count ten pauses in that first sentence. This gives Augie's descriptions, observations, and anecdotes a rapid, remarkable, and recognizable rhythm. Bellow's prose is like a drummer capturing the flight of a bird.