Sisters Under the Rising Sun

“Others in the water have also noticed the Japanese aircraft heading straight for the stranded passengers. All around them the sea begins to churn as bullets strike the water, some finding a target. Too many who have survived this leap into the unknown now float lifeless in the waves, their fight over.”

This passage exemplifies The Indiscriminate Brutality of War, with the attack’s target shifting from the ship to the helpless survivors in the water. The verb “churn” creates visceral imagery of the sea’s disruption, mirroring the violent destruction of human life. The contrast between the hopeful act of survival (“leap into the unknown”) and the finality of being “lifeless” underscores the arbitrary and cruel nature of the attack on noncombatants.

“Clasping a cotton slip between her hands and teeth, she tears off strips of fabric.”

After assessing the severe rope burns on Norah’s and Ena’s hands, Margaret Dryburgh takes this action. The imagery of Margaret using her “hands and teeth” demonstrates primal determination in response to the lack of medical supplies, establishing her as a resourceful leader. This act of destroying a personal garment to create bandages foreshadows the nascent community’s solidarity, where individual possessions are sacrificed for the collective good.

“‘GIRLS!’ yells Matron Irene Drummond. ‘I WILL CARRY YOU ALL IN MY HEART. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW PROUD I AM OF EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU.’”

These are Matron Drummond’s final words before the Japanese soldiers execute the women at Radji Beach, as recounted by Vivian Bullwinkel. The author’s use of capitalization communicates the matron’s defiant resistance in the face of certain death. Her speech transforms a moment of victimization into a testament to the power of female solidarity, reinforcing the nurses’ collective identity and dignity at the ultimate extremity.

“‘What Vivian has just told us can never be repeated to anyone. Ever.’ Nesta pauses to confirm that her words are striking home. ‘Vivian is a witness to a brutal crime and if any Japanese soldiers know she survived, they’ll kill her too. And if they think we know, we can expect the same fate. Agreed?’”

In the aftermath of Vivian’s story, Nesta’s dialogue establishes the nurses’ vow of silence. This moment engages with the motif of memory, suggesting that it can be a dangerous burden but also, for that very reason, a powerful bond; Vivian’s testimony is a shared secret that brings the women together for the purposes of mutual survival. Nesta’s leadership here demonstrates a pragmatic understanding that solidarity is now a necessary defense against their captors.

“We form a human chain from number 26 to this house, then another from here to your new places. It will save a hell of a lot of walking backward and forward.”

When the Japanese military orders the nurses to move houses to create an officers’ club, the entire camp community comes to their aid. The “human chain” that Margaret Dryburgh’s plan creates becomes a metaphor for the prisoners’ interconnectedness and collective strength, visually representing the theme of the power of female solidarity; the women physically link themselves together to resist their captors’ attempt to isolate and exploit a specific group. The act of passing possessions from hand to hand further exemplifies and symbolizes their shared burden and mutual support.

“The nurses huddle in a tight circle; their fear can no longer be disguised.

‘Hurry up!’ an officer shouts.

Five nurses break free of the huddle and step forward.”

During a standoff at the officers’ club, the nurses’ defiance begins to crack under direct threat. The verb “huddle” and the image of a “tight circle” convey both their solidarity and their vulnerability, while the officer’s terse command reflects a persistent pattern of dehumanizing violence. The description of five nurses “break[ing] free” uses diction to evoke the group’s fractured unity, yet the nurses who step forward also “sacrifice” themselves in a way that benefits the group. This moment reveals the psychological strain of resistance and the complex calculus involved in survival.

“‘Then you will die. Are you prepared to die, Sister?’

‘Yes, I’d prefer that.’”

In her direct confrontation with Captain Miachi, Nesta is given an ultimatum. The captain’s question is intended to break her will by forcing her to confront her own mortality. Nesta’s stark reply, devoid of any hesitation or qualification, demonstrates the depth of her resolve and defines the moral stakes of the nurses’ resistance: Nesta views the conflict as a struggle for spiritual integrity, which she values more than life itself.

“‘I want each and every one of us to swear that what has been agreed today will never be revealed to another living soul. The names of…,’ Nesta’s voice breaks as she recites the names of the four women, ‘shall remain with us until our dying day.’”

After four nurses volunteer to act as “hostesses” to save the camp from starvation, Nesta has the others swear secrecy on a Bible, transforming a pragmatic decision into a sacred, unbreakable bond. That Nesta’s voice “break[s]” injects a moment of pathos, revealing the emotional cost of leadership and the gravity of the sacrifice.

“I want to form an orchestra. An orchestra of voices. Voices I can turn into instruments.”

Norah reveals her radical idea for creating music without instruments. This quote introduces the voice orchestra, the novel’s central symbol of creative resilience and spiritual defiance. The repetition of “orchestra” and “voices” highlights the transformative power of Norah’s vision; “orchestra” gives way to “voices,” which give way to “instruments,” mirroring Norah’s plan to turn the human voice into a source of complex, symphonic beauty in an environment of total deprivation. Her idea directly embodies the theme of art and music as a form of spiritual resistance, showing that humanity and hope require only imagination.

“Beyond the wire, the men hear sweet voices raised to the heavens, just for them.

‘Oh, come all ye faithful / Joyful and triumphant…’

Norah’s heart fills as she sings a Christmas carol for their fellow prisoners, communicating in the only way they are able.”

This act exemplifies singing’s role as a form of connection and defiance. Unable to interact at length with the male prisoners, the women use music to transcend the physical barriers of the camp, creating a moment of shared humanity and hope. The choice of a Christmas carol, a song of “triumph” and faith, is an act of both spiritual and cultural resistance.

“But this doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about those friends we fled Singapore with who are not here with us now.”

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Nesta expresses the immense psychological toll of survival and loss. This admission humanizes her beyond her role as a leader, revealing that her strength lies not in the absence of pain but in her connection to the women she leads. The dialogue highlights the motif of memory, as bearing witness to the loss of their friends is integral to the survivors’ experience. Nesta’s grief also prompts an immediate outpouring of support, reinforcing the theme of the power of female solidarity.

“‘Too old! Must go to men’s camp,’ a Japanese guard says as the boys are marched away. […] Everyone witnesses the barbarity of young children being wrenched away from their mothers, but no one looks away.”

This scene of mothers being separated from their children demonstrates the brutality of war. The guard’s curt dialogue reveals the camp’s dehumanizing logic: The boys’ needs and feelings do not matter at all. The final, declarative sentence—“but no one looks away”—transforms the women into active witnesses who resist the erasure of their suffering. Their gaze is a testament to their solidarity and refusal to be cowed.

“We can’t get our little girl something as simple as a banana. […] Just think of the thousands we saw rotting on the ground before we came here and now I’d give anything to be able to get hold of just one, even a rotten one.”

Norah’s lament uses a single banana to encapsulate the broader motif of hunger. Her memory of abundant, wasted fruit contrasts ironically with the profound deprivation of the camp, highlighting the cruelty of their man-made famine. Her words reveal how the conditions in camp erode not only physical health but also the ability to perform fundamental acts of care, which is central to the characters’ identities.

“I don’t want you looking up to find some higher power, some God. I want you just to see the sky, the tops of the trees, the birds. […] There is more than the mud and squalor beneath your feet.”

When a fellow internee rejects anything reminiscent of religiosity, Margaret offers a pragmatic redefinition of spiritual endurance. Her instruction to “look up” counteracts the physical and psychological reality of the camp, which forces one’s gaze downward into the mud. Consciously redirecting one’s attention to find beauty in the natural world thus becomes a way of preserving humanity and perspective.

“Held by the beauty and strength of this music, written in a time and place unimaginable to the audience…in this moment, they are free.”

This quote captures the profound effect the voice orchestra’s first public performance has on the internees. The personification of music frames it as a nurturing, protective force akin to the work’s mothers; it “holds” the women and, in doing so, creates a state of spiritual liberation that contrasts directly with the women’s physical confinement. This moment illustrates the central theme music as a form of spiritual resistance, framing creative expression as a means of temporary escape from a dehumanizing reality. The ellipsis suggests a depth of feeling beyond words, emphasizing the internal freedom the women experience.

“Floating, falling, the delicate introduction to ‘Song Without Words’ transports the women above the filth and squalor of their camp. Now they are dressed in the finest of gowns, sitting in the most famous opera houses of Italy, Paris, London.”

This passage uses sensory details and kinetic verbs like “floating” and “falling” to show how the orchestra’s music allows the prisoners to mentally escape their grim surroundings. The juxtaposition of the “filth and squalor” of the camp and the imagined elegance of European opera houses underscores the power of art to transcend physical circumstances and to restore the women’s sense of dignity and humanity.

“What’s happened? Let me tell you. June and a group of boys hide under the guards’ hut in the hope of catching the few rice grains that spill from their plates onto the floor and through the cracks. […] We can’t feed her, so she risks a beating, her life, for a handful of infested rice.”

Norah breaks down after learning that young June has been “hunting” for spilled rice beneath the guards’ hut. The passage juxtaposes the innocence of childhood—June describes her actions as though they were a game—with the degrading and dangerous reality of starvation, illustrating the indiscriminate brutality of war. That the rice is “infested” emphasizes the severity of the camp’s deprivation, while Norah’s anguish highlights the psychological torment of being unable to fulfill her role as a protector. This scene reveals the trauma inflicted upon the camp’s most vulnerable prisoners.

“Please tell the captain that even if I did know any Japanese music, I will not have my orchestra or the choir perform it. On that I am clear.”

After a successful concert, Norah responds to Captain Seki’s demand that her orchestra perform a Japanese song. Her declarative statement is an act of cultural and artistic defiance, establishing a clear boundary between performing for her community and performing for her captors. The syntax of the sentence “On that I am clear” conveys Norah’s unwavering resolve, inverting a more standard word order to leave Seki (and readers) with Norah’s “clarity.” This moment transforms the voice orchestra from a source of solace into an overt instrument of resistance.

“‘You have to stay calm. Try and slow your breathing down. It’s the only way we can limit the amount of fumes we inhale. Please just have a go,’ Jean urges.”

While locked in a junk boat’s hold filled with kerosene fumes, nurse Jean gives instructions to the suffocating women. Jean’s calm, practical guidance exemplifies the theme of female solidarity, as her professional instinct to care for others persists even in a moment of shared terror. The focus on the act of breathing highlights the prisoners’ struggle for survival at its most basic level.

“Norah and Audrey are perched on small wooden stools in front of a raging firepit. They suffer the heat of the flames as they each hold a rusted screwdriver in the fire before they burn the names of the dead women into the crosses. While time-consuming and exhausting, they nevertheless cherish this last act they can perform for the unfortunate women who have succumbed to disease.”

While preparing the camp cemetery, Norah and Audrey create a ritual to honor the dead. Their actions illustrate a key form of resistance: preserving identity against the anonymity of death in the camp. The use of the verb “cherish” in this context creates a paradox that highlights the women’s determination to maintain dignity and humanity for their fallen friends—a visceral manifestation of the motif of memory.

“Norah raises her hand to catch sight of her wedding ring. She sighs; it’s the only thing she has to remind her of John. It hangs halfway down her skinny finger, threatening to fall off.

‘My wedding ring?’

‘Do you want food for your sister or not?’

Norah plays with the ring before sliding it off. Kissing it, she hands it to Tante Peuk.”

Desperate to buy food for Ena, Norah makes a significant sacrifice. The description of the ring hanging loosely on her “skinny finger” is a synecdoche, representing the broader physical toll of starvation on her and all the internees. By trading this symbol of her past life and love for John, Norah prioritizes the immediate survival of her sister, demonstrating the central theme of female solidarity. The act of kissing the ring before giving it away underscores that the transaction is a solemn, personal sacrifice.

“Gently, she places the cross on her lap and slowly starts to burn in the letters: M . . a . . r . . g. Her tears fall on the seared letters and hiss. Audrey places her arm around Norah’s shoulders, hugging her tight, both giving and receiving support for the duty they are undertaking.”

While carving the name of Margaret, a dear friend and central figure of hope in the camp, Norah is overcome with grief. This moment of memorialization is both a personal expression of loss and a collective act of remembrance, as Norah is supported by Audrey’s physical gesture of comfort. The act itself symbolizes the painful but necessary process of preserving the memory of those who have died.

“If Seki is expecting the women to burst into whoops of joy, he is mistaken. The women don’t move and stare uncomprehendingly at one another. Seki doesn’t get his moment. He storms off the hill, the soldiers and Ah Fat scurrying after him. Slowly the women pull themselves to their feet and return to their huts.”

Upon hearing the news that the war is over, the prisoners’ reaction subverts Seki’s expectation of joyous celebration and suggests the psychological and physical trauma they have endured: Their experiences have stripped them even of the capacity to feel relief. The commandant’s petulant departure in response to being denied his anticipated dramatic climax contrasts with the women’s stunned silence. Their slow, mechanical return to their huts reveals that for them, liberation is not an event but the beginning of a long, uncertain process of healing.