54 pages 1-hour read

Sisters Under the Rising Sun

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2023

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Themes

Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of sexual violence, graphic violence, death, and illness.

The Power of Female Solidarity in a Dehumanizing Environment

Sisters Under the Rising Sun suggests that survival in extreme circumstances is often a collective act rooted in solidarity. In particular, Heather Morris argues that the bonds of chosen sisterhood provide the ultimate defense against the dehumanizing forces of war. The women in the prisoner-of-war camps endure starvation, disease, and brutality, but they do so as an organized and mutually supportive community that actively resists the erosion of their humanity.


The internees counter the chaos of their imprisonment, characterized by arbitrary violence and relocations, by creating an ordered, communal society. Much of this organization is formal and quasi-governmental: For instance, the women establish committees for sanitation, cooking, and other essential tasks to ensure their collective well-being. The distribution of resources, beginning with clothing and culminating in purchased food, is a particularly key concern, as well as one that causes some friction. Nevertheless, the ultimate choice to share these goods underscores both the women’s communal spirit and the resilience of the system they have put in place, which successfully mediates disputes.


A similar communal impulse extends to acts of defiance. When the Japanese officers demand that the Australian nurses become “hostesses” at their club, the nurses collectively refuse. Their defiance results in the Japanese withholding food from the entire camp, but instead of fracturing their community, this punishment strengthens it. The civilian women stand with the nurses, declaring that if the nurses do not eat, no one will. While four of the nurses ultimately choose to comply with the army’s demands to circumvent this crisis, the episode demonstrates the women’s commitment to shared sacrifice, even at the cost of their individual survival. It also shows how this unity transforms the captors’ attempt to divide and conquer into moments that reinforce communal strength. The words of the mother superior—“United we will stand, divided we fall; we will fall together, united” (57)—encapsulate the episode’s significance. The remark adapts a common saying about the importance of unity to the realities of life in the camp, promising not survival, which is always uncertain, but solidarity even in “defeat” and death.


This large-scale solidarity is built upon a foundation of personal bonds. The relationship between sisters Norah and Ena, who protect one another and collaborate to care for June, a motherless child they rescue from the sea, forms the emotional core of the novel. Their tie expands to encompass a chosen family, demonstrating that the instinct to nurture can create new connections even in the face of loss. Indeed, this ethos of care defines the entire community; for example, during their first Christmas in the camps, the nurses host a dinner and celebration for all of the internees. Through these small and large acts of mutual support, Morris suggests that empathy is a form of resistance, allowing the women to preserve their humanity by affirming the value of one another’s lives.

Art and Music as a Form of Spiritual Resistance

In Sisters Under the Rising Sun, art and music function as essential tools for preserving humanity and resisting despair amid extreme suffering. The creation of music in the desolate camps demonstrates that even when stripped of all physical comforts, the human spirit can find sustenance and defiance through art.


From the very beginning, music serves as an act of communal defiance in the face of war’s brutality. Shortly before the HMS Vyner Brooke pulls away from a burning Singapore, the Australian nurses on the wharf sing “loud[ly] enough to drown out a nearby petrol tank detonating into a ball of flames” (10). That their voices rise above the sounds of destruction symbolizes art’s ability to transcend violence and chaos, foreshadowing the crucial role music will play in the prisoners’ survival. Whether performing national anthems at camp concerts or serenading the male prisoners through the jungle, the women use their collective voice to assert their shared humanity.


Two developments in particular reveal music’s ability to inspire and sustain the women. The first is Margaret Dryburgh and Norah’s composition of “The Captives’ Hymn,” a piece that becomes a source of spiritual strength and an anthem of resilience for the entire camp. That the piece is born of collaboration contributes to its power, as Margaret acknowledges: “I may have written the words, but it will take on new meaning, thanks to the beautiful music written by Norah” (121). The very act of composition thus cements the bonds between the women, paving the way for its performance, too, to become an act of collective hope, uniting the women in their faith and determination. Norah’s creation of the voice orchestra continues in this communal vein while also drawing on the women’s shared cultural identity prior to their imprisonment. A classically trained musician, Norah recalls complex orchestral scores from memory, painstakingly transcribing them onto scavenged scraps of paper and teaching the women to use their voices as violins, cellos, and woodwinds. The camp concerts, especially the orchestra’s performance of Dvořák’s New World Symphony, offer a temporary but essential escape and a reminder of a world where beauty exists.


The link between art and identity is sharpened when the camp commandant, Captain Seki, demands that the voice orchestra perform Japanese music. Norah’s refusal, despite the brutal punishment she endures, frames artistic expression as an act of cultural preservation. By refusing to perform the music of their oppressors, she defends her orchestra’s integrity and the women’s right to their own cultural expression. Morris thus illustrates that art is a declaration of who one is and a central weapon in the fight to remain human.

The Indiscriminate Brutality of War

Sisters Under the Rising Sun serves as a testament to the suffering of those who are often invisible in historical accounts of conflict: It documents the dehumanizing impact of war by showing how its brutality extends beyond the battlefield to the systematic abuse of civilians and prisoners. Through depictions of massacres, starvation, and casual violence, Morris illustrates that war destroys not only lives but also the ethical norms that ordinarily govern human societies.


The narrative exposes this collapse through its portrayal of war crimes against noncombatants. The bombing of the Vyner Brooke, a ship carrying evacuees, and the subsequent machine-gunning of survivors in the water target those often considered out of bounds even in war: refugees, children, and other unarmed civilians. This flouting of norms culminates in the Radji Beach Massacre. After their ship sinks, a group of surrendered Australian nurses and British soldiers are summarily executed in a complete breakdown of both the rules of combat and broader ethical mores. While the book’s subject matter spotlights Japanese war crimes, the reference to the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the novel’s final pages clarifies that such atrocities were not unique to the Axis powers. Even after all Nesta has endured, the idea of using nuclear weapons renders her speechless, underscoring the event’s unspeakable horror: “Atomic bombs? […] But they’re…they’re…” (340). The soldier she is talking to responds, “[n]asty business, war” (340), a comment that not only affirms war’s dehumanizing effects but, in its very casualness, illustrates it.  


Beyond these instances of mass violence and death, the novel details the grinding, daily brutality that characterized life in many POW camps. The constant threat of death from starvation and preventable diseases like malaria and beri-beri is a direct result of the captors’ neglect, a point underscored by Captain Seki’s response to being told the camp is on the verge of mass death: “Captain Seki is aware that many women are very sick and will die. He said he wants you to bury them just outside the camp” (298). That Seki has plans in place for a cemetery reveals that the women’s deaths are policy—a slow form of violence. The guards’ casual cruelty, from the slapping of women for supposed infractions to the traumatic separation of young boys from their mothers, exacerbates the situation. This systematic degradation is meant to break the prisoners’ spirits and sever their most fundamental human connections. By documenting both the violence of a massacre and the slow-motion cruelty of the camps, Morris argues that war, far from being glorious or heroic, deliberately and indiscriminately destroys human life and dignity.

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