Sisters Under the Rising Sun

In these final chapters, the theme of The Power of Female Solidarity in a Dehumanizing Environment reaches its ultimate expression as a system of reciprocal care that transcends social and moral boundaries. Norah’s interaction with Tante Peuk, a “comfort woman,” provides the most complex depiction of this theme. Norah’s decision to care for a collapsed Tante Peuk demonstrates a compassion that extends beyond the established camp hierarchy and, indeed, Norah’s own personal feelings, as she previously sacrificed her wedding ring to Tante Peuk to obtain food. Her act is a recognition of shared humanity in a system designed to divide women. The secret return of the ring is a similarly pivotal moment, transforming the women’s relationship into one of mutual grace. It suggests that the bonds forged in suffering can create their own moral economy based on unvoiced understanding and shared humanity. The collective farewells, first to the nurses and then to Norah, mirror the moment’s reciprocity, affirming the creation of an enduring family forged in war.

Meanwhile, the theme of Art and Music as a Form of Spiritual Resistance culminates in music’s relationship to memory and tribute. The death of Margaret Dryburgh, the orchestra’s spiritual co-founder, reinforces what Norah already suspected: The camp concerts are at an end. The subsequent concert forced upon the women by Captain Seki serves as an ironic contrast; where Norah’s orchestra created art from within their experience, the Japanese performance is an external imposition and a hollow gesture. The true legacy of Norah’s music emerges in the novel’s closing moments of captivity. The Dutch nuns’ performance of her vocal arrangement of Ravel’s “Bolero” is the ultimate validation of Norah’s efforts. The music, once a tool for survival, is now offered back to its creator as an expression of gratitude. This final performance reframes the music as a memento of their shared history. The novel’s final scene, in which Norah sings to her daughter, both mirrors and inverts this dynamic. Once again, music serves as a vehicle of memory, though in a much more intimate, personal context. However, where the nuns’ singing honored the women’s wartime experiences, Norah’s lullaby marks the resumption of “normal” life, as she uses the music to reclaim a familial bond threatened by trauma and separation. It thus affirms music’s centrality to the women’s survival.

Memory more broadly is a key concern as the women’s imprisonment ends. The act of remembrance has previously functioned as a survival mechanism; like Margaret’s instruction to “look up,” the act of looking back reminded the women of a world outside the camps. Now, this motif of memory shifts toward a formal act of historical testimony. When the Australian paratroopers arrive, Sergeant Bates’s cable explicitly states his intent to “[COLLECT] PARTICULARS MASSACRE OF A.A.N.S. AT BANGKA ISLAND FOR LATER TRANSMISSION” (339). This moment codifies the nurses’ secret story, particularly Vivian Bullwinkel’s testimony, as a piece of historical evidence, suggesting a civic duty to bear witness to war crimes. This lends an element of metafiction to the novel’s final chapters, as the novel itself acts as this kind of testimony.

The narrative structure of these concluding chapters subverts heroic war story tropes, focusing instead on the psychological complexities of trauma and the anticlimactic nature of liberation. The pacing accelerates dramatically during the transfer to Belalau, compressing horrific events—multiple deaths at sea and on the train, culminating in Margaret’s demise—into a relentless sequence that mirrors the prisoners’ disorienting ordeal. This emphasizes The Indiscriminate Brutality of War, where death is no longer a singular tragedy but a constant presence. Upon liberation, the narrative similarly avoids a cathartic explosion of joy. The women meet Captain Seki’s announcement with stunned silence, too physically depleted and psychologically conditioned to process the news. Moreover, the process of leaving the camps unfolds slowly; the women “test their freedom by leaving the camp […] before turning around and coming back” (329), and when they do leave for good, it is in stages. While the novel does not linger on the postwar experience, the drawn-out scenes of liberation hint at the long journey to recovery.

In keeping with this, the character arcs of the female leaders reach culminations that emphasize the lasting personal costs of their public strength. Norah’s journey from a civilian musician to a pillar of the camp community ends with her reunion with her family, reminding readers of the private grief she endured throughout her internment. For Nesta, liberation brings not just relief but the full weight of her responsibility and loss. Her private sorrow for Matron Olive Paschke upon reaching Fremantle reveals the emotional toll she has suppressed. A subtler but significant moment occurs when Mrs. Hinch reveals her first name. This small act of vulnerability signifies the intimacy forged among the women, dissolving the formal roles they adopted for survival and acknowledging the deep, personal connections that lie beneath. It is a final testament to the ways in which every woman, regardless of her outward strength, was irrevocably changed by their shared ordeal.